What's a Girl to Do?
by originella
Summary: Scarlett "Scar" Davies whole life has been a lie - upon graduating with a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice, she finds out that her distant mother adopted her when she was three months old. Determined to find answers, and having accepted a job in her birth place of Chicago, Scarlett goes to seek fortune, love, and the identity that people seem determined to keep from her.
1. Perfect Strangers

Chapter One: Perfect Strangers

I hum the chorus of Dolly Parton's _9 to 5_ as I make my way down the highway, from Seattle to the Chicago South Side. Not your typical way of moving in this day and age, I know, but I've always been afraid to fly. If I'd decided to pull an all-nighter, I could've made the trip in just a day and a quarter, but my mother and stepfather—who had raised me ever since my dad had walked out on me when I was five—had given me a credit card to pay for hotels along the way so that I wouldn't do something crazy, like fall asleep at the wheel.

 _Crazy_. Crazy is that feeling you get when you constantly feel like you're on the outside looking in. Crazy is that notion that you physically and emotionally look nothing like the various members of your family, and it's just something you have to accept. And crazy is when you find out at the age of twenty-one—just after you've graduated college—that your entire life started with a lie. It was as if I'd been in some kind of horror show from day one, and now I could officially eject the tape that had been my life.

To say that my mother and stepfather had raised me was an understatement—when you do the bare minimum for your child, the icing on the cake is paying them off when you feel guilty about the whole thing. My mother and biological father immediately tried getting pregnant as soon as they got married, but, for some reason, it never happened. Three years into their marriage, they looked into adoption, and, lo and behold, I was made available to them. They took me from my birth state and over to Washington State, where I had five years as a complete family unit. After my father left, he sent my mother divorce papers by mail, and I never saw him again. My mom divorced him quickly, discarding him like yesterday's garbage, but the son of a bitch was the one who left us, right?

My mother met my stepfather, Dr. Norman Court—who I called "Dr. Normal"—about six months after the divorce, and they were married three months after that—he was a doctor, so I guess that was something women looked for in a guy, financial security or something. In quick succession, my mother had three sons with my stepfather—my half-brothers, Drake, Elliot, and Fabian, who were now sixteen, fifteen, and fourteen. My mother subsequently devoted all of her attention to the boys, while her husband took pride in bringing home the bacon. I, meanwhile, was seven-years-old and reading law textbooks for fun that my stepfather had left over from when he wanted to be a lawyer. By the age of ten, I'd grasped the understanding enough of that, and the English language (and French, Spanish, and Italian) that I was able to move from the fifth grade and into the eighth grade. Well, pending approval from the sixth and seventh grade board, who booted me out of their classes faster than you can even fathom the words that the Sherman Brothers came up with for _Mary Poppins_.

By the time I'd graduated high school at the age of fifteen, I was fully prepared to take on college, and got a scholarship to the local law school extension of the university. I kept my head down and took all the classes I could, my eyes on the prize—to obtain my Master's Degree by age twenty-one. Which now lead me here, driving in my red Prius down that highway towards the South Side of Chicago, and not only because it was the farthest place I could run to. Well, the farthest one that I could find myself living, that is. Other than securing a job at one of their criminal law firms, I'd also heard my mother's long-kept secret, the one that made her stop looking at me when she remarried.

It was right after I'd gotten my diploma, and, after doing my best not to trip over the hem of the godforsaken gown, I managed to rendezvous with my mother, stepfather, and the boys in the meeting place afterwards. After the customary photos, and Norman handing me the keys to my new Prius with a customary "good luck", he turned and looked at my mother. The silence was deafening, but I waited for him to speak nevertheless.

"I'll meet you at the car, Tina," he said, pulling Elliot and Fabian after him as Drake brought up the rear, and I stood across from my mother.

Realizing this was one of our first times alone—apart from a handful of birthdays and when I was twelve when I became a woman—I forced a smile onto my face. "So, are you just going to go home with Norman and the boys?"

She nodded. "That was the plan. You set off pretty early next week, don't you?"

I nodded back. "Yeah, I'll want to get an early start."

"How's the shopping going?"

"Good. Really stocked up on sweaters. Even got a couple pairs of snow boots and a new winter coat. Chicago winters they get...snow, you know?" I said, awkwardly.

My mother sighed. "I know. You were born there."

"I—what?" I asked, thinking I'd misheard her. "I was born in Chicago? But, you always told me that I was born here, in Seattle, nine months after you and Martin got married—"

"I lied, okay?" my mother said, her voice coming out like a whip. "Listen to me, Scarlett, you weren't born nine months after I married your father. I couldn't get pregnant," she said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Your father had a business trip in Chicago and, well, we arranged for an adoption while we were out there."

"Adoption?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Yes. It had been nearly three years and I couldn't get pregnant—I felt like something was wrong with me, you know? So, your father and I got a lawyer and we found out where you were and, when you were three months old, we took you home with us."

"I. Was. Adopted?" I asked, my voice so tight that it felt like I was spewing each word one sentence at a time. "And you didn't think to tell me this _years_ ago?!"

My mother shrugged. "Honey, it was very confusing—"

"What the fuck was I supposed to think?!" I hiss under my breath, forcing the tears to remain inside my eyes for the time being. "All this time I thought I reminded you of dad. You've barely looked at me these past sixteen years! What was I supposed to think?" I whispered then, my voice now hinging in the desperation area. "You made me think, all this time, that I'd done something wrong, and I hadn't. I was just somebody else's child, because you sure as hell never treated me like your own."

"Now, honey, that's not—"

"Don't you dare give me a what's fair versus not fair lecture right now, Tina!" I said, wanting to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. "I got the raw end of the deal, because you saw fit to upgrade to real children. I'll just remove myself from the equation, then," I told her smartly, jingling the keys in my hand before turning away.

"Scarlett!" she shouted from behind me. "Where are you going?"

I turned around then, my copper hair—so unlike her tidy blonde curls—swirling around my face in my moment of defiance. "I'm going back to your house, to pack my shit. Then, I'm going to load it into my new car. And then I'm going to begin my new life—away from you. It's just like you always wanted, isn't it?" I whispered to her then, the tears unable to stop themselves now. "I mean, from day one, you wanted me gone. Well, you sure as hell got your wish now, Tina," I mutter before turning away from her again.

I got home as quickly as I could that night, putting the last of my stuff in the boxes that I'd picked up the week before. Despite the begging texts I received from my mother, I ignored them completely, relieved that Dr. Normal had taken them all out for dinner. Before leaving, I stood in front of the antique mirror, that I would have my friend, Jessica, send to me via express mail, as well as my bedframe. Looking at myself, I could see it then—copper hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin—nothing like my mother's peaches and cream complexion, or my father's russet one. I shook my head, bringing my last box downstairs, my new credit card in my pocket, and bringing it outside. I placed it into the trunk of my car—the others wedged there, in the back seat, all the wells except the drivers' side one, and the passenger seat—before I slammed it shut.

I sighed, pulling my black leather jacket on my shoulders, for the night had suddenly turned chilly, but, that was Seattle for you. I locked the front door of the house, detaching the key from the chain and placing it underneath a flower pot upon the porch. Crossing the courtyard and getting into the driver's seat, I set the GPS for the South Side of Chicago as the ultimate destination. So convenient, I thought now, me picking that place, of all places, to start my new life and my new job. As I pulled out from my childhood house—which had never been a home—I forced myself not to look in the rearview mirror as I rounded the corner and out of sight for what I assumed would be for the last time.

. . .

The drive itself was not entirely horrible, and I was able to do something which I'd grown accustomed to for the last decade and a half—to be alone with my thoughts. It was a constant process that I'd done—a healing process, if you will—where today I told myself that it was not my fault that my mother had seen fit to lie to me. I wouldn't allow myself to understand why she had done so, however, for it would likely have sent me on a never-ending maze on unanswered questions that I could never get out of.

I made the drive in three days on little sleep, and the next destination I set my GPS for was my new apartment. I found my way to it easily, pulling into the provided lot and—although I was pleased at the impressive brick building—was pleased that it was equipped with an elevator, as my unit was on the fourth floor. After several stages of loading and unloading my car, I proceeded to figure out where to put what. I spent the next several hours organizing the area and then, after doing as much organization as I could handle on an empty stomach, I decided to take a walk and get my bearings. Pocketing my cell phone in my denim shorts, I felt secure in my newish tank top and sandals, and kept my credit card by me, which I'd been permitted to use by Dr. Normal until my paychecks began coming in regularly.

The red awning of an establishment known as The Alibi Room stood out to me, and although I was never one for drinking, I went inside. Scanning the place, I noticed it was all done up in varieties of wood, and the bartender looked like he knew a thing or two about self-defense. I stepped forward, towards the bar, and he immediately turned his dark eyes onto me. I stood my ground, pulling out a chair and sliding into it, and he regarded me closely then, almost as if he'd seen me before, but couldn't remember where.

"We usually have a 'no minors' policy, young lady..."

I scoffed at that, producing my ID from my pocket and flashing it at him. "Don't mind the whole Washington State thing—I'm getting my revised one soon."

He regards the card for a moment and nods to himself. "Hell, as long as you're twenty-one and over, I could care less," he says. "What are you drinking?"

I sighed. "I don't really drink," I replied. "I mean, maybe something fruity without the whole alcoholic aftertaste..."

"Apple martini coming up," he says with a smile, taking the oversized rag he'd been wiping down the bar with and slapping it onto his shoulder. "So, you new in town or something?" he wants to know, just making conversation.

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that," I reply, leaning back on the chair. "Just moved in three hours ago."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What do you do?"

"I have a degree in criminal law," I reply. "Got a job as a junior lawyer at that big fancy firm downtown that you have."

"Ah, a professional," he said, nodding to himself as he prepares my drink. "Why didn't you get a condo downtown, then?"

I sighed. "Rent is cheaper here. Plus, I like the whole rebellious thing that this neighborhood seems to have." I wrap my fingers around the stem of the martini glass that the bartender offers to me, and inch it towards me.

"Sheltered life?"

I look up, and notice that he has the same look on his face—the one where he wants to place me, but just can't do it. "Yeah. My dad walked out on my mom and me when I was five, and then she married a doctor. They had three sons, and I was just..."

"Shoved into a corner?" he guesses.

I scoffed. "Yeah, you could say that. Got used to it, though," I say, lifting the martini glass and taking a swig, the alcohol burning my throat.

"How'd you get used to your mom being a grade-a bitch?" he asks, and, at my raised eyebrows, immediately holds up his hands. "Hey, I'm sorry, I mean, just an opinion..."

I clear my throat then. "She's not my mother," I reply. "Just signed her name on a damned certificate and never allowed herself to forget it."

The bartender nodded. "Adopted?"

"At three months," I reply. "The bitch told me three days ago, when I graduated with my fucking Master's, and that motherfucker husband of hers bought me a fucking car..."

"You didn't like him?" he guesses.

I nearly choke on my drink. "Dr. Normal? Never gave much thought to it. I've been pretty anti-men since my dad walked out—you're lucky I'm even talking to you..."

"Kevin," he said, putting out his hand. "Kevin Ball—owner. Nice to meet you."

"Owner...of course," I say, taking his offered hand and shaking it.

"And you are?"

"Scarlett," I reply, looking up and feeling my face flush, as I always did when I introduced myself to others. "Can't help thinking my mother called me that because I my hair. Hope my birth mother came up with something more original..."

Kevin laughed, continuing to wipe down the bar. "Well, you've made a friend already."

"A friend?" I asked, taking another sip of my martini. "Well, that's nice, I guess," I reply, my eyes wandering around the place a bit more, and spotting a makeshift stage in a back, darkened corner. "What's that?" I ask, nodding towards it.

"A stage," Kevin replied, following my eyes. "Got all the equipment set up for karaoke, but nobody really seems interested..."

"Not at this hour," I joke. "It's completely dead! Maybe, on Friday and Saturday nights, when bars should really be hopping, but now..."

Kevin freshened up my drink then. "You sound like you know a thing or two, Miss I-Don't-Really-Drink..."

I smirked. "If you're asking me if I can sing, the answer is yes. I can. Don't know where the hell I got it from—just did it a lot in my spare time and found that I could carry a tune."

"Why don't you come back tonight?" Kevin asked, and I turned and looked at him. "Contrary to popular belief, The Alibi Room is chocked full of customers every night. Why don't you come in with something sexy on and, I don't know, attract customers with your voice?"

I smirked as I lifted my martini to my lips. "You just met me, for one thing," I reply, taking a delicate sip—I seriously needed to pace myself. "And for another thing, you're only going on my say-so. Who's to say that I'm a perfect judge when it comes to my own singing voice, anyhow, Kevin?" I ask him.

Kevin smirked then, crossing his arms. "Sing something, then."

I felt myself blanch white. "Huh?!" I demanded.

"Sing me something so that I can be the judge," he tells me, more slowly this time. "My bar, my rules. Besides, I'm impartial—remember, I just met you."

I sing the song that's been stuck in my head for years, the one I drummed out the chorus to on my drive over here. _9 to 5_ by Dolly Parton comes out of my mouth then, and I do my best not to completely emulate her Southern twang, as I knew it had to sound like me. I keep my eyes fixated on the bar, and my hands placed on it—my fingers splayed a perfect distance from the other upon the wood—knowing I didn't have the guts to look at Kevin. Finally, when I finished the chorus, I looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wide.

"What?" I asked him, my voice filled with dread.

"Not only are you good—you're fantastic," Kevin told me, his face breaking into a smile. "Not only do you get to sing karaoke tonight, but I want you several times a week! I'll pay you five hundred a night, Scarlett, for two hours on weeknights, and four on weekends."

"Five...hundred?" I whispered, my eyes widening. "Sure!" I replied then, putting out my hand to his to shake again. "Sure, five hundred is great!"

"Great!" Kevin said, obviously pleased with himself. "You'll start tonight as agreed."

. . .

My first three days in Chicago passed by like a blur of apple martinis and song requests from drunkards—of course, Kevin had one rule: do not touch the merchandise, which was altogether fine by me. On July fourth, The Alibi Room was packed, and there I was in a tight leather skirt and skimpy black top, my ankle boots doing their darndest to knock me off my feet, standing there beneath the red, orange, and yellow spotlights. I began my set for the evening when the men and women had quieted down some, and soon, I was on a roll.

I looked back towards the bar at one point, seeing Kevin talking to a particularly delicious specimen of young man, who couldn't have been more than two years older than me. As I sang, I saw Kevin gesture to me to the guy he was speaking to, and as I hit a high note, the guy turned and looked at me. I felt my heart beating faster then, my cheeks flushing from my martinis, the adrenaline, and something I couldn't quite put my finger on as I continued with my set. Once I'd finished, I got down from the stage and walked by all the pawing hands, and perched in my customary barstool, where Kevin had an apple martini and my payment for that nights' show waiting for me.

"So, you're Scarlett?" said a voice as I lifted the drink to my lips and, as I looked up, I saw the delicious specimen Kevin had been speaking to earlier.

I nodded. "Yeah, that's me," I replied, putting out my hand. "Scarlett Davies—nice to meet any of Kevin's friends."

"I'm Lip. Lip Gallagher," the guy replied, smiling at me. "Nice to finally meet you. Kevin's been going on and on about you for days."

"Can't think why—he's got Veronica to keep him on his toes," I say, catching his eye and raising my drink to him, and he smirks at me, catching our line of conversation. "But anyway, it was nice of Kevin to let me earn some cash before my official job starts."

"Official job?" Lip wants to know.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm—well, I'm going to be—a criminal lawyer at Blomqvist, Sampson, and Torrance downtown," I replied. "A junior one to start out with, but I've just gotten my Master's Degree, so I'm all set."

"Master's Degree?" Lip demands, clearly in shock. "Fuck! How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," I reply with a grin, lifting my glass again. "Graduated high school at fifteen. I skipped fifth, sixth, and seventh grade."

"So you're some kind of smart girl, then?" Lip wants to know.

I laughed aloud at that. "I don't know about 'smart'," I reply with a shrug. "I mean, I'm certainly being dumb right now..."

"Why? Because you're talking to a stranger?"

I look up at him, our eyes meeting again. "No," I reply, finding that my voice has quieted down for some reason. "No. Because my stepfather is a hepatolgist."

"Should I know what...?"

I giggle at him. "No, but yes... Um, it's a doctor and they specialize in the gallbladder, pancreas, liver, and biliary tree, and how you can manage a disorder in any of those," I tell him. "As far back as I remember, Dr. Normal always went on and on about the dangers of drinking and how you could fuck up your liver for the sake of a good time."

"Dr. Normal?" Lip asks, trying not to laugh.

"Dr. Norman Court, my stepfather," I reply, dragging my finger on the surface edge of my martini glass.

"You didn't like him?" Lip guesses.

I look up at him. "I neither liked him nor disliked him. I mean, he _did_ pay for my college preparatory high school, and for my books and supplies all the way up to college graduation, but he didn't love me. Only his boys."

"And your mom?"

I shrugged. "Made the boys her main priority as soon as they were born."

"So, that's how you became a genius, then?" Lip wants to know. "By bad parenting?" he asks, a small smirk developing around his mouth.

I nodded at that, pleased that someone finally seemed to understand as I raised my glass. "To bad parenting," I say with a laugh.

Lip touches his beer bottle to my glass. "So, I take it you're not from Chicago originally? We have a distinct accent..."

I laugh. "Uh, yeah, actually. I am from here originally."

"Really?" Lip wants to know.

I laughed. "Yeah. My mom told me the Degree that I was adopted. I already accepted the position out here so I left Seattle and came back home, so to speak."

"What are you looking for?"

There was nothing in the question; there was something in the question. Now that it was posed to me, I found that there were difficult answers that lay beneath. The warning bells that should have gone off in my mind at unveiling so much about myself to a total stranger were strangely silent and, for once in my life, I didn't want to be normal. I wanted to take risks and talk to strangers and try new things and, just once, allow myself to get close to someone without the added fear that they, too could hurt me.

"A new life," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Then why'd you come here, to the South Side?" Lip asks.

I smiled at him. "My mom texted me that I was born here, in the South Side," I replied. "Might as well return to my roots in my free time, make a go at trying to find out who I really am, and maybe, just maybe, track down my family."

Lip considers my words for a moment, almost as if he is attempting to contemplate every thought I'd ever had in my life. "Do you know anything?"

I took another sip of my drink. "Well, my mom told me that my birthday might be off, but the year was correct—1996. I guess once I can figure out the hospital, I can go from there. Maybe the courthouse has the adoption records..."

"Probably," Lip puts in. "I mean, I would assume so..."

I smiled at him. "You say something now, Lip."

Lip chuckled. "Let's see. I come from a big family... My dad's a total deadbeat alcoholic that lost custody of us a long time ago. We've got a half-sister named Sammi, but she's locked up, and thank god about that. I've got another older sister, Fiona, who got custody of us after our dad, Frank, lost it, and pretty much raised us. Then there's Ian, who's your age, and then Debbie, Carl, and Liam."

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow. You certainly don't fathom families with a lot of kids anymore, unless they're on TLC or something."

Lip laughed at that then, taking a swig of his beer. "Who's to say that all the funny, hot girls are taken?" he asks.

I laughed. "Who told you I wasn't taken?"

"Kevin," Lip replied.

I threw Kevin a look from behind the bar, and he threw up his hands in a moment of surrender before I turned back to Lip. "For once, Kevin is right. I'm not taken. I read too many books and skipped too many grades in school to get taken. When I was a senior, I was pretty much off-limits on pain of jail time to two-thirds of my class."

Lip smiled. "Hey, at least you got out of there."

I nodded, checking my phone then. "Almost midnight. I should go."

"Where do you live?"

"The brick apartment building—Alamo Arms. It's just three blocks down and two blocks over from here. Not too far."

Lip immediately got to his feet, and offered me his hand. "I should walk with you. I mean, it wouldn't be very neighborly if I didn't."

I smirked at that, finishing my drink and hopping down from the barstool. I dug a couple singles out of my pocket for a tip before taking my payment for the evening and placing it inside one of my pockets. I then grabbed my cell phone and took Lip's offered arm, whereupon we walked outside into the darkness together.

"Do you like it here, so far?" he asked as we walked.

I laughed. "It's been three days."

"What? Not enough time to make a judgement call yet?"

I smiled. "Maybe," I replied.

Lip smirked beneath the streetlamps as we walked. We continued in silence for several minutes before we eventually arrived at my block, and his grip tightened as I was about to move away from him, and towards the entryway stairs. He looked down at me then, and I turned to look at him, smiling up at him.

"I'm okay here," I assured him.

"I know you're okay. You're...you're more than okay, Scarlett Davies."

I laughed, turning away from him for a moment to hide my smile before looking at him once again. "Was that a line, sir?" I asked.

Lip hung his head sarcastically. "Admittedly, yes."

I nodded. "I see," I replied.

Lip looked up at me then, as eager as a boy on Christmas. "Is it working?"

I don't know what came over me, but my senses returned as I leaned in and kissed him. I, of course, had experience with kissing, but not much else, but the notion of kissing someone who was practically a stranger made my heart beat in my ears. I gasped aloud then at the sensation of Lip's hands on me as he pulled me closer to him, and my gasp caused the kiss to escalate, so much so that Lip and I could and would get arrested if we did anything further.

I finally came to and broke away from him, our faces flushed, our breathing heavy. "It was nice to meet you, Lip Gallagher," I said, my voice hoarse as I turned away.

"Wait," Lip said, catching my wrist, his touch gentle. "Can I... Can I call you sometime?" he wanted to know, and the fact that he sounded so sweet melted my heart.

Turning around, I reached into his jeans pocket, skimming the inner seam with my fingers for some daring reason and managed to guess his pass code. I accessed his contacts app, whereupon I added myself there. Then, I placed the phone back into his pocket, my fingers trailing along the inseam once more before I raised my eyes to his. Lip leaned down and kissed me again, but I pulled away a moment afterwards, knowing that giving the milk away for free was not an option during the night we met. I gave him a small smile then, turning back around and walking back up the stone steps of my building, taking my key from my pocket and unlocking the door, before turning in the doorway at a sound from behind me.

"Scarlett?"

I was touched at how sincere his voice sounded, that I very nearly just found myself staring at him for a fraction of a second too long. I was awed by his earnest blue eyes and his beautiful dark blond hair, and the way he looked at me was enough to drive any girl wild. When I finally found my senses—for the third and final time that night—I felt the smile upon my lips turn into a slight smirk, knowing that I could fall hard for him, if he played his cards right.

"Your move, Gallagher," I told him, and Lip grinned up at me, and I grinned back, before stepping into my apartment building, and waving him off as he walked home in the darkness that surrounded us all.


	2. Unanswered Questions

Chapter Two: Unanswered Questions

I felt the wry smile I frequently had for any given situation form upon my lips as I stepped into my apartment, an unfamiliar number with a Chicago area code appearing upon the caller ID upon my phone's screen. Swiping the green phone icon, I brought it up to my ear, hesitating for a moment, even though I knew perfectly well who was waiting on the other end. Finally, I inhaled and permitted myself to break the ice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me, Lip," said the voice on the other end.

"Hey, Lip. Long time," I joked, reaching down and taking off the ankle boots that Kevin had insisted I wear, based on their description alone. "What brings you to my phone?"

"Well, you _did_ just give me your number," Lip replied as I bent to pick up my boots and walked down the hallway of my unit with them. "I mean, if it's a bad time..."

"No," I interrupted him, shaking my head, and inwardly cursing myself because I soon realized he wouldn't be able to see that. "It's fine, really," I told him, placing my shoes in the rack I'd positioned on the back of my door. "How are you?"

"Still walking home," he told me as I put him on speaker so that I could get out of my outfit and into a tank top and shorts to sleep in. "But I do want to ask you something..."

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, finding the sleep outfit I wanted and tossing my work clothes into the hamper at the base of my bed. "Ask me what?"

"Do you maybe want to get dinner or lunch or something sometime?" he asked.

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing at his informality of it all, although I could detect the fear of rejection behind his voice—minor in psychology, don't judge. "As a matter of fact, I just so happen to love getting dinner, lunch, or something," I tell him.

Lip laughs on the other end of the phone; I finish changing and take him off of speaker, plugging it into the charger upon my nightstand, maneuvering myself onto my stomach so as my phone could charge adequately. "So, I take it that's a 'yes'?" he asked.

I nodded, hissing, _Dammit Davies_ , under my breath at my nodding. "I'd love to, Lip," I told him, knowing that it was likely that he could tell I was smiling from the tone of my voice. "I'm singing at The Alibi again tomorrow night—got to make some extra cash before my day job starts up officially..."

"Do you know when you start?" Lip wants to know.

"About a month," I reply. "Originally, I wasn't due here for another two weeks, so there was a bit of scrambling on the landlord's end—he's not too happy with me at the moment, me getting here several days early. But, I told you what happened between me and my mom, and, well, I just had to get out of there..."

"I get it," Lip tells me. "At least I had an older sister to step in and take all of us. Our mom left us and our dad... Well, he preferred the inside of a beer bottle than to any of us."

"That's terrible," I found myself saying. "But, I mean, Fiona sounds great. Always wished I had an older sibling, but it was just me. After my dad left, and my mom got remarried pretty quickly, her new husband worked all the time and she was always with the boys... She even enrolled me in summer school so that she, her husband, and the boys could take _family_ vacations," I told him, and Lip made a noise of disgust on the other end of the phone. "But I did manage to skip three grades because of it, and by the time I turned thirteen, my mother couldn't be bothered to arrange summer plans for me. Had I been older, I would've likely started drinking or smoking pot or throwing wild parties. But I just sat there, surrounded by books...or with Jessica."

"Jessica?"

"The closest thing I had to a friend back home," I explain. "She had a big, close-knit family who always were inviting me to things. I got the feeling, at first, that they felt sorry for me, but they eventually just kept asking to the point where I felt like I belonged. It's a strange thing—a sense of belonging—you know?"

"If you're not used to it, sure," Lip replied, and I hear talking in the background. "Oh, hey, Ian," he says, and I immediately remember it is one of his brother's names. "Listen, my brother's home from work..."

"No problem," I reply. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll come tomorrow night—hey, maybe I can persuade Ian to come," he said, and I hear Ian muttering a sarcastic, 'Fuck you' in the background, all directed at Lip.

I laughed. "That sounds fun. Meeting new people is becoming my forte," I tell him. "It was really nice to meet you tonight, Lip."

"It was even better saying goodbye," he replied. "I've never had a goodbye like that, from someone I just met before."

"The fuck did you two do?!" Ian demanded in the background.

"Hi, Ian," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Scarlett says 'hi'," Lip informed his brother. "He says 'hi' back. Okay, I'm not going to bother you anymore tonight."

"You're not a bother," I assure him—he really wasn't. "But I should probably get some sleep soon, because I don't need to show up looking like I'm thirty-years-old. Kevin may throw me out my second night on the job."

"Can't have that," Lip tells me. "Okay. Goodnight, Scar."

I blush at the nickname. "Goodnight, Lip," I reply, hanging up the phone.

. . .

I spent the next several days singing at The Alibi, and spending plenty of time with Lip; true to his word, he'd brought Ian to my second show. Ian and I said hello, but my eyes were all for Lip and vice versa, and Ian took off soon thereafter so that Lip could walk me home. I was pleased when, on the night of my fourth show, that Lip reiterated his request to take me to dinner, and I accepted immediately. Our first official date was the next evening, before my next show, and we continued in this hum of things—us going out or just talking after my shows—for the next several days.

"Don't worry," he told me on the night of my fourth show. "I'm not going to try anything drastic immediately—learned that the hard way."

"Oh, yeah?" I asked as we walked back to my apartment. "How so?"

"Long story; maybe I'll tell you sometime."

"But why wouldn't you try anything drastic?" I wanted to know. "Who's to say that I would automatically be against it? I am over twenty-one, you know."

"Yeah, but you're not... You're just not like any of the other women I've dated," Lip tells me, obviously not wanting to bad-mouth his exes, or me, for that matter.

I scoffed. "Why? Because they were all gorgeous and I'm—"

"You're beautiful," Lip told me firmly, stopping me in my tracks. He took me by the shoulders then, holding me there for a moment before he leaned down and kissed me. "Trust me. I don't have a type, but I know attractive when I see it."

"Come the fuck on," I said, a laugh escaping my throat as I gently pushed him away from me, as I walked away from him. "Seriously. What did they have that I don't?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lip replied, hurrying to catch up. "Experience..."

Immediately, I stopped walking, and Lip turned around to regard me then as I stood there, my mouth hanging open. "I—what?"

Lip smiled. "Come on. You yourself told me that you never went to parties or anything growing up, and that Jessica was the closest thing you had to a friend. And that you spent all your free time reading law textbooks..."

I crossed my arms. "Yeah, well, I could've done something reckless, like had a one night stand or something!"

"You were too smart for that," Lip says, crossing back to me, and standing opposite. "I know it and you know it."

I lowered my eyes, gazing at the cracks in the sidewalk we now stood on. "Yeah, well... So what if I'm not...experienced?" I whispered the word, as if it was an expletive. "I mean, free country and all, right?"

Lip reached out then, tilting my chin up. "Hey, Scarlett, don't sweat it," he told me, leaning down and kissing me again. "I like you the way you are. And when or if you're ready to cross that bridge with me, I'll be waiting on the other side for the conversation."

The night after my fourth show was the first night off that Kevin gave me; I got the text when I woke up around eleven o'clock the following morning. Thinking quickly, I texted Lip that I had gotten the day off, just in case he was going to stop by the bar that night. Lip said that he had to pull doubles at work for the next four days and so he was unavailable, but he promised to squeeze in some phone calls.

I accepted the offer, and spent the day finishing my unpacking and organizing, and then drove to the recycling center to dispose of my boxes properly. I also stopped at the supermarket, buying a blender for myself to begin a juice cleanse that I kept promising myself I was going to do before I started work at the firm. Returning back to my apartment, I unpacked the groceries and began to organize my kitchen. As a going-away present, Jessica's family had given me pretty much every kitchen essential that I would need, a blender not included, thankfully, and so my kitchen area was beginning to shape up accordingly.

After Lip returned from his double shifts at work, it was as if we hadn't seen each other for years, and that was really saying something, because I'd never been a people person. We spent the afternoons of the next week together, and he came to most of my shows at night. Even if he wasn't at my show, he was always waiting outside The Alibi afterwards to walk me back to my apartment. We'd graduated from just walking stagnantly beside one another to holding hands as the week went on, and I thought it was all progressing very well.

On my third Thursday in town, I was getting ready to go for a run at seven a.m. when Lip called me rather unexpectedly. I yanked my earbuds out of my ears and out of their socket on my phone before I swiped the green phone icon and placed it next to my ear. Heart beating fast—as it always did when Lip was around—I tried my best to keep my cool.

"Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Good morning, Scar," he said, sounding as chill as they come.

"Hi, Lip. How's it going?" I asked, despite seeing him less than seven hours ago. "How may I help you this morning?"

"You said last night that you had the day off today, right?"

"Yes, yeah. Kevin told me during my intermission between sets."

"Cool," Lip replies, and I wonder how guys can be so nonchalant about everything. "Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to come by the house tonight."

"The house?" I asked, feeling awkward just saying it. "I, mean, uh, why?"

"I got stick babysitting Liam—my youngest brother," he explains. "Nobody else was available. I just figured you could come by after he's in bed. We could watch a movie or something."

 _He is trying to Netflix and chill me_?! I thought to myself. _Game on_! "Sure, Lip, I'll come over, if you want," I replied, smiling to myself. "Around nine? Liam's bedtime can't be very late. He's still pretty young, isn't he?"

"Nine's great," Liam replies. "Just knock three times. If I don't come down, it means I'm putting him to bed. I'll leave my key somewhere where you can find it."

"Yeah. Okay," I reply, not altogether sure what Lip and I could get up to inside somewhere that wasn't The Alibi Room. "I'll see you then."

"See you, Scar," Lip replied.

I head downstairs from my apartment, plugging my earbuds back into my phone and pop them into my ears as I lock the main door behind me. Getting out onto the street, I make my way down the block at a good clip, knowing that I want to be out for at least an hour or two to work off the bar food I'd ingested over the past couple of days that could not have been good for me. Keeping a good pace, my sneakers pounding the pavement, I listened to the various bands of the 1980's pumping in my ears, cheering me on, and feeling at one with many of them, but mainly with Freddie Mercury.

I got back to my apartment a little after nine o'clock and immediately headed into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Stripping off my makeshift jogging attire, I threw it on top of the toilet and gave my reflection a cursory glance in the mirror. I'd always worn a bit more weight than most young women should, but it hadn't seemed to deter Lip for some reason. Shaking my head, I removed the ponytail—taking a few strands of my copper hair with it—before I grabbed the nozzle of my shower and adjusted it accordingly before turning it on. Once the temperature was to my liking, I stepped inside, the warmth of the water bringing temporary, yet immediate relief to my joints, slightly achy from the run.

Once out of the shower, I decided to let my hair dry out naturally as I slipped on some comfy house clothes, and decided to look over my checklist for beginning my new job. Other than getting my Bachelor's and Master's Degrees and moving to Chicago, I was also required to register with a doctor to get a physical beforehand. I made a mental note to contact a local doctor the following day as I continued reading through the checklist, even pulling out my contract which informed me, yet again, that I would be making about one-hundred and sixteen thousand a year, as an Associate Attorney, which I was not upset about.

Rolling my shoulders, I decided to call the cable company that I'd heard was the best around and scheduled an appointment for the following week. While I didn't have cable, I did already have internet—as the landlord provided that for an extra hundred dollars a month, which Dr. Normal didn't have an issue with. I logged onto my laptop, updating various social media profiles, to let my few hundred "friends" know that I'd taken the plunge and was now living in Chicago. I smiled when I noticed that Lip had friend requested me, and had also followed me on various other social media platforms. I accepted his friend request and followed his, pleased that he seemed to want other ways to keep in touch with me.

I made myself some dinner at the allotted time—just some salad with chicken—and cleaned up the kitchen, with just enough time to freshen up before heading over to Lip's. He'd texted me the address and I would key it into the GPS system to ensure the quickest route. Once I was presentable enough to be seen in public, I left my apartment around eight-thirty, locking up the front door and heading around to get my car. Getting inside, I copied the address from the text message and into the GPS system, and found that it was not so far away after all. Driving down the sunset-splattered street, I could see why Lip was slightly apprehensive whenever I asked him about his childhood home.

"It's the ghetto," he'd told me firmly. "You don't want to find yourself on the wrong side of it at night. That shit could eat you alive."

I didn't care where he lived—it's not the houses that mattered, but the people who lived there. I parked in front of the correct one and got out of the car, locking it automatically and making my way up to the chain-link gate. Opening it slowly, I found I was not put off by the squeaking—it gave it character, I decided. Making my way up the concrete path, I walked up the stairs and found the key sticking out from beneath a flower pot, and decided not to knock, lest it disturb Liam, attempting to sleep. Bending down in the darkness, I retrieved the key and stuck it into the lock of the door, letting myself in, and shutting it behind me.

It hadn't been a particularly warm night, so I'd worn my leather jacket, which I slipped off my shoulders as I stepped into the living room. Hesitating for a moment, I perched on the edge of the couch, and felt a sense of belonging which I'd never in my life felt before. Sure, the house and properties around it were rundown, but it truly gave them character, and that was something you couldn't find everywhere. Where my childhood home had been stuffy, and I'd been relegated to a corner with a potentially outdated textbook, this one—however outdated and cluttered—had had some kind of love within its walls, hadn't it? Sure, Lip had said his upbringing had been questionable at times, but his siblings had loved him...

I heard footfalls on the stairs near the kitchen a moment later, and, turning, I saw Lip emerge from the wall next to them, and he looked shocked that I was there. I got to my feet, not knowing if I should have been sitting or not, and hesitated where I stood. Lip, too, stood there, almost as if he was unsure what to say to break the ice, so I decided for the both of us. Not knowing what came over me, I wished later that I could've plead insanity, but I just couldn't take the building tension between the two of us anymore.

"So, what do you want to—" Lip began, but I was much too quick for him.

The second before he'd begun to speak, I'd already begun walking towards him, heart in my throat and pounding in my ears. Just as he attempted to get to the last words that he was intending to say, I approached him then and latched on tightly. Our lips met immediately, and our mouths came open at once, and we were instantly pawing at one another with no intentions of stopping. When his hands came down to pull off my tank top, I pulled back and began to pull at his own shirt. Lip grinned down at me, grabbing me by the waist as soon as it came off, and lifting me up. He then deposited me onto the couch, the very one I'd been sitting on when he'd first walked in, and began to yank at my jeans, while I fumbled with his belt.

Lip looked down at me then, our eyes locked, and our breath heavy, our bodies anticipating what was to come. "What have you done to me, Davies?" he whispered.

I scoffed. "You should ask yourself the same question, Gallagher," I whispered, finding my fingers gently tracing the outline of his crotch, still hidden beneath denim.

"Fuck!" Lip hissed through his teeth, pulling me to him again, our lips meeting, as he managed to kick off his jeans and attempt to remove mine as well.

It wasn't the key in the lock that we heard, or the back door opening, but the next thing we heard we would remember for the rest of our lives.

"Lip, are you fucking kidding me right now?!" came the shout. "Liam is _right upstairs_ and he's got pretty good hearing!"

I let out a scream at that, closing my legs to Lip immediately and, my face flushed, making a grab for my tank top. "Ian!" I shouted, getting to my feet, yanking up my jeans. "Under normal circumstances, I'd be totally against a guy walking in..."

Ian's dark eyes flashed to Lip for a moment before he ran his fingers through his red hair. "I'm going to go check on Liam," he said, straightening his dark blue EMT uniform. Turning back to me, he smiled. "It was lovely to see you again, Scarlett. Let's do it again sometime when I'm home to see you properly," he said, glaring at Lip before heading upstairs.

Lip's eyes flashed to mine as soon as Ian's footsteps had ceased. "What did your comment mean?" he whispered as I straightened my tank top.

I raised my eyes to his. "What do you mean?"

"About how you would have minded about other guys walking in..."

I give Lip a small smile, cupping his face, knowing that this could start an argument. "Nothing, just that I feel at ease with Ian. He's nice, not like your typical jackasses our age..."

Lip nods, accepting it as I get to my feet. "You okay?" he asks.

"Well," I say, making a grab for my leather jacket as he walks me to the door. "Suffice it to say this has definitely been an interesting and productive day."

"How so?" Lip asks.

"Well, I mean I've got most of my checklist done to start at the firm," I reply. "I still have to make a doctor's appointment to get a physical. Once the results are in, and I'm deemed healthy enough, all systems are a-go."

Lip hesitates for a moment as I open the front door. "And do you anticipate anything going haywire?" he wants to know, leaning against the doorframe.

I smirked, leaning in and kissing him. "I'm dating a member of the Gallagher family," I reply with a grin. "How could things not go haywire?"

Lip looked amazed at what I said. "Oh. Right."

I shake my head immediately. "Sorry. I thought we were... Forget it," I say, putting on my jacket to distract myself. "Not important."

Lip pulled me back against him, and I felt my entire body tense up as soon as it made contact with his. "I just didn't know if you would still want to see me after Ian walked in on the two of us just now."

"Dude, please, I could give a fuck," I reply, laughing. "Besides, the only think he could've seen is your ass. It's not like he got a look at my tits or anything else."

Lip grinned. "You're pretty sexy when you're being sassy," he tells me.

I bite my lip, unsure of the affect he has upon me. "Does sass deserve punishment?" I whispered, allowing the words to linger in the air for a moment.

Lip looked past me and outside and, satisfied, snaked his arm from my lower back to my ass, which he cupped for a moment, before bringing his hand upwards and slapping it. He grinned down at me as I felt my entire body spasm at the feeling of it, and I leaned into his chest to muffle my slight scream. "Have you learned your lesson?" he asked.

I nodded, raising my eyes to his. "I've learned tonight, Gallagher, but maybe I'll need tutelage on this matter further...in future."

Lip smiled slowly at my words. "Rest assured, it will be given."

I returned his smile before standing on my toes and kissing him. "Goodnight, Lip," I said, pulling slowly away from him and making my way down the stairs, towards my car.

"Goodnight, Scar," he replies, and he waits in the doorway until I've driven away.

. . .

I found an appropriate doctor in the downtown area and was relieved when the receptionist told me that they had gotten the referral from the firm—apparently, I'd picked their doctor without even trying—and that they could squeeze me in on Monday. I thanked the woman, taking the appointment before terminating the phone call. I spent the weekend singing at The Alibi and seeing Lip, and pocketing the promised stipend from Kevin. Pleased at myself for earning some kind of living, at least until my day job began, it helped pass the time until the morning of my doctor's appointment.

I waited in the sterile environment, feeling altogether unsure about another interaction with a stranger, but after meeting Kevin, Lip, and Ian, I began to feel better about living here. When my name was called at the appointment time, I got to my feet and went with the nurse, trying to feel adult about the whole thing. I mean, I carried a fucking leather purse—armed with a dead cow hanging from my shoulder, that had to make me an adult in some form, right? _Maybe a heartless one_ , a thought said to me, and I rolled my eyes, brushing it off.

"You filled out the intake form?" the nurse asked.

"Right here," I replied, handing over the clipboard.

"Very good," the nurse said, taking it from me. She went over to the computer and filled out the information I'd given, compiled with the file that my former primary care physician had sent to this office. "Your former doctor was Dr. Diana Evanston?"

I nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"And she was your doctor from birth, is that correct?"

"Yes, she was."

"And you would say you received care from her that was standard?"

"Yes, I would say so."

The nurse nodded, asking me a few more trivial questions before reiterating to me that Dr. Fairfax would be in soon to complete my physical in about ten minutes. I thanked the nurse, and took the offered hospital gown and changed as soon as she'd gone. Hopping back up onto the exam table, I crossed my legs at the ankle, keeping my hands clasped in my lap. The wall had one of those old clocks that were at everyone's middle school built at some point in the 1950's—you know, the ones that click with every single second, and, if you focus entirely on that, it could become quite maddening.

The door opened a few minutes later and Dr. Fairfax entered the room. She was lovely; she had a peaches and cream complexion with the most platinum blonde hair I'd ever seen. Her eyes were the color of glaciers, and she had hands to match, but she was quite kind, albeit distant. She went over what the nurse had left for her after a few moments of introductions between us, asking me a few questions here and there.

"Are you on birth control, Scarlett?" she asked.

I flushed immediately. "No," I replied.

"Have you ever been on birth control?"

I shook my head. "No."

"May I ask why that is?" she wanted to know.

I sighed, my shoulders deflating. "I've never needed it," I replied.

"Never needed it?"

"No." I sighed. "I never had a boyfriend...up until... Well, I got my Master's Degree just recently and suffice it to say I never had a spare moment to date, nor did I want to date."

"There are other reasons to go on the pill, Scarlett."

I laughed. "I know. My stepfather's a doctor. I'm well-aware that women take them to clear their skin or to get their cycles to be regular, but I never found a problem with either of those things, if I'm being honest."

Dr. Fairfax nodded. "Well, you said you never had a boyfriend up until some point recently. Do you have a boyfriend now, Scarlett?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what you would call us exactly..."

Dr. Fairfax typed some more information into her file on me into the computer. "Have you two slept together?"

I laughed aloud again. "No. No, we were about to, once, but his brother walked in. Kind of killed the mood, if you know what I mean."

Dr. Fairfax laughed. "I do, believe me. But, Scarlett, if you see yourself eventually sleeping with this young man, you should be on the pill. The pill usually works after about a month, so if you find the right moment is happening, you're being advised by me to use a condom, and then perhaps a morning after pill, just in case."

"Oh, I wouldn't need the morning after pill, even if the condom was affective," I say quietly, and find myself lowering my eyes automatically.

"What do you mean?"

I raised my eyes back to hers again, feeling tears coming to my eyes as I encountered a line of particularly sensitive conversation. "I... I can't..."

"What is it, Scarlett?" Dr. Fairfax asked gently.

I sighed. "I was told when I was nineteen that I couldn't have children," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but I knew that Dr. Fairfax heard me.

Dr. Fairfax threw me a sensitive expression. "Oh, Scarlett, I'm so sorry," she said gently. "I do suggest, however, that you get on the pill, for formalities sake. You never know—bodies can change at any time."

I sighed. "All right. I'll take it."

"Great," Dr. Fairfax says, putting in the information. She then gets up and examines me, leaving my private areas alone, as she says, they don't need looking at if I can't feel anything physically bothering me, which causes me great relief. At the end of the appointment, she snaps off her gloves and goes to wash her hands. "If there's anything else..."

"Actually, Dr. Fairfax, there is." I wait for her to finish washing her hands and for her to turn around and face me before I continue. "The thing is, I was adopted, and I recently found out that I was actually born here, in the South Side..."

Dr. Fairfax smiled. "I just thought you moved away here as a child..."

"At three months, when I was adopted," I explain. "I was wondering if maybe you knew how I could go about tracking down my biological family..."

"Of course," Dr. Fairfax said. "Check the courthouse for the records first—that's what I would do. You wouldn't believe how far back those things go."

"Thank you. I'll look tomorrow," I reply.

"Great," Dr. Fairfax says, shaking my hand. "You're quite healthy, Scarlett. You should be very proud to have achieved so much in your life."

I sighed, shrugging my shoulders as I moved to get my clothes back on. "Well, I just hope that when or if I get in touch with my biological family, that they can see past my achievements and just like me, or love me, for who I am..."

"Your adoptive family relied a lot on academia?" Dr. Fairfax guessed.

I scoffed, shimmying into my jeans and hopping from one foot to the other. "I was lucky if they bothered to look twice at me."

"Not a fun start to life?"

I turned and looked at her, managing to get my bra inside the gown to hook it. "Just bad parenting all around," I replied.

"So, you've got unanswered questions?"

I smiled to myself, taking off my gown and folding it accordingly before grabbing my tank top and shaking my head. "Oh, Dr. Fairfax, you don't even know the half of it..."


	3. Parallel and Perpendicular

Chapter Three: Parallel and Perpendicular

I go to the courthouse the following afternoon, still slightly exhausted from my late night at The Alibi Room. However, I was determined for some answers, and if Dr. Fairfax believed that the courthouse could help me, I was all for it. Driving downtown for the second day in a row wasn't something I minded, as my car was equipped with the beautiful sensation of an air conditioner, so the hot July day didn't sway me in the slightest.

I pulled off the freeway at the correct exit and made my way down the various streets, until an impressive brick building stood out among them, the sign proclaiming it the courthouse I'd been looking for. Parking in the lot and paying for a ticket, I journeyed inside the building and selected a number, once I'd found the correct waiting area. Sitting on these wooden chairs that clearly belonged in a trash heap or fire wood pile, I was tempted to bring my knees to my chest and go into full-on fetal position. I was not sure what I might find, but I was nearly positive that it wouldn't be so easy that I would immediately get the information.

I felt something along the lines of relief and anxiety when my number was called, and I got to my feet, making my way over to the window where a woman was sitting. I got out my ID and hesitated for a moment, knowing that it was now or never. "Hello, my name is Scarlett Davies," I tell her, and the lady fixes me with an expression, as if she is wondering why she should care. "I was born here, but I was adopted at three months by a couple who moved to Seattle. I'm back living here for work and I would like my adoption records and original birth certificate, please, if it's all the same to you."

"Honey, wouldn't we all," the woman replied, taking my ID and typing the information into her computer beside her. "Okay, I've submitted your request for a petition form, which will be mailed to your address by the end of the week. Once you send it in, you'll be notified within a week or two if your request has been approved. As for your birth certificate, you'll want to get a copy of the one from the hospital, not the one in your adoption records, which will also take time, I'm afraid. There's a fifteen-dollar charge for the cost of the certified copy and then a ten-dollar charge for the searching of state files."

I reach into my wallet and produce my credit card, plus bills. "I'll pay with cash or my credit card but I want the information. If it's that little, I don't mind paying for it."

"Cash is fine, honey," the woman said, looking slightly bewildered as I handed over the correct amounts for my mystery to be solved. "Okay. You've paid for your birth certificate and for its search, plus your petition to see your adoption records has been filed. Will that be all for today, Miss Davies?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you, Marsha. Call me Scarlett," I replied, catching a glimpse of her nametag.

"You're welcome," Marsha replied, putting the money into a safe as she handed me back my ID, and hesitated for a moment. "Good luck."

"What?" I asked, caught off-guard.

"Good luck, Scarlett. With everything."

I put out my hand for her and she shook it. "Thank you," I said, and, for once, I really meant it as I walked out of there and into the sun-splashed day.

. . .

The nights dragged on, but the days couldn't have been better, as Lip showed me all around the city whenever he had some free time. One afternoon, Lip told me just to drive for a while and, at the end of it, we ended up at a park down a quiet street. Perplexed, we got out of the car and walked towards it, where a woman was sitting at a picnic table and, as we approached, turned around and grinned at Lip, getting to her feet.

"Hey!" she said, going to him immediately and throwing her arms around him. "This is a surprise! What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, Fi, had to keep it a surprise," Lip replies, pulling back, and placing an arm around my waist, which made my skin tingle.

The woman turned her dark brown eyes to mine; she had dark, wavy hair to match, and looked at me expectantly. "You must be Scarlett—can't believe I'm finally meeting you," she said with a smile, putting out her hand. "I'm Fiona."

"Fiona!" I said, a little too loudly, and my face immediately bloomed with regret as I took her offered hand and shook it. "So nice to meet you."

"Lip says that you're something special," she says as we finish shaking hands. "He says you're a victim of bad parenting, too."

"Fi!" Lip said, his voice a hiss.

I laughed aloud then, leaning into Lip. "No, Lip, it's fine, really," I told him. "I always tell Lip that I wish I had an amazing big sister to help me out, but..." I shrugged. "Just wasn't in the cards for me, I guess."

"Lip says you pretty much raised yourself?" Fiona asks as we move to sit.

"Since I was about seven, yeah," I reply, feeling a rush of something as Lip places his hand upon my knee, unseen by Fiona, although I suspect she suspects something.

"Law textbooks helped, I assume?" she asks, smiling.

I laughed. "Yeah, I mean, my mom had three sons with her second husband so I pretty much slipped through the cracks on the whole parental loving department."

"But not in the educational one, I see!" Fiona says, grinning. "A Master's in Criminal Justice at twenty-one! That's impressive."

I lower my eyes to the table. "And a minor in psychology," I say with a grin.

"Shut up!" Fiona says, slapping the table, and my eyes dart to hers, but I see that she is grinning from ear to ear. "Lip is quite the intelligent one, too. I see you've found something in common with this one, little brother."

Lip sighed. "Yeah, well, most girls don't fall for the smart guys..."

I bite my lip, turning to look over at him. "I'm starting to," I replied.

Lip immediately turns to look at me, his eyes widening at my sudden declaration to him. "Wait, really?" he asks, seemingly shocked.

I laughed again then, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation as I bumped his shoulder with mine. "Well, yeah," I replied.

"You guys are so cute, I can't stand it," Fiona declared, smiling at the two of us. "Please tell me you're not crazy..."

Lip locks eyes with Fiona then, and Fiona immediately looks as if she regrets saying something to that affect. "Fi..." Lip whispers to her.

Fiona turns red and lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have..."

I sighed, feeling my shoulders hunching forward as they often did when I felt even remotely self-conscious as I grew up. "Sorry to disappoint," I replied.

"Oh," Fiona said, obviously disappointed in herself, or in my answer.

"I'm not, like, certifiable or anything," I said, feeling insecure. "I mean, I'm not going to suddenly strip naked and run down the street or anything..."

"That's a relief," Lip put in.

"But there are days when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning," I say quietly, and Fiona quickly looks over at Lip, a bewildered expression on her face. "But I force myself to. I guess I'm wired a certain way, I don't know..." I shrug.

"What is it?" Fiona asked, her voice quiet. "What you've got?"

I place my hand on Lip's shoulder as he starts to protest. "It's fine, Lip," I said gently, before turning back to Fiona. "He told me about Monica, so you've got every right to be concerned." I sighed, wanting the dust to settle for a moment. "It's major depression and high anxiety," I replied, remembering the day in the therapists' office during the diagnosis. "I was twelve-years-old and in my sophomore year of high school. Of course something was going to happen to me psychologically one day..."

"You seem to work through it well," Fiona says softly. "I mean, two degrees, and you've got a high-paying job lined up. Not everyone can say that about themselves."

I nodded. "Work distracts me, I'll admit," I tell her. "I found the pressure of doing assignments throughout my school career was able to combat the symptoms of my illnesses in a positive way and so I kept up with the vigorous routine. I didn't really think about anything beyond school but when it came time to declare a major, I just went with what I knew. It wasn't too difficult; hell, I even got into trouble sometimes for correcting the professors..."

Fiona grins. "Bet they didn't like that very much."

I shook my head. "Fuck no," I replied, and Fiona's grin widened. "Thankfully, I don't think they believed I was doing it to be malicious. Plus, my stepfather donated a wing or something to the university, so they didn't want to piss off my family. Although I wouldn't know what would've happened to me if I supposedly did something wrong and was caught..."

A shadow was cast over Fiona's face then as she fully absorbed my meaning. "You don't... Do you think that your mother's husband would've... Hurt you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He never was a predictable person. He basically just ignored me, and didn't seem to care when I moved into a dorm on campus. I had a handful of conversations with him throughout his marriage to my mother, and they all revolved around my education. He did present me with a list of acceptable career choices—doctor, lawyer, teacher, things like that—but he didn't have any parameters. He said that as long as I picked something from the list, I could choose the section myself."

"So, he approved of your desire to become a lawyer?"

I nodded. "Yes. Dr. Normal, my stepfather, gave a stiff nod when I told him, just a week after my senior year of high school began, what I wanted to do. He made some calls on my behalf and I got into the law program of the university close by."

"But you lived at home during college, some of it, at least?"

I scoffed. "Yeah. Dr. Normal and my mother agreed that it would be inappropriate for me to begin living on my own until I turned eighteen. I didn't mind—they gave me pretty much everything I needed. Food, an allowance, and a car when I turned sixteen, during my freshman year of college. I guess the only thing they didn't think to give me was love, and time, but it didn't matter. Not in the end, at least."

Fiona reached across the wooden table then, and, in an unexpected gesture, clasped my hand in hers, something that caught me momentarily off-guard. "I think you've got some loving to do here," she told me quietly. "Lip says you were from here?"

"Born and extracted, is more like it," I said ruefully, squeezing her hand back. "Adopted at three months and shipped off to Seattle."

"What about your adoptive father?"

"Martin," I replied, feeling strange at uttering his name. "Martin was a sought-after musician. I guess you could call him a rock star..."

"Really? He's in a band?" Lip asked, sounding interested.

I nodded. "Yeah—sent a check every month until I was eighteen, so he wasn't a complete deadbeat, although my adoptive mother would have me believe otherwise." I found myself smiling for a moment. "In the six months before she met Dr. Normal—up until now—they were the happiest in my life."

"Really?" Fiona asks.

I nodded again. "Yeah, because I wasn't intelligent yet—at least, not overtly so. And my mother only had me to worry about. I think she resented me..."

"Why?" Lip wants to know.

"Well, she had been told that children, for her at least, would be impossible to conceive naturally and so, after she married Dr. Normal, and had three sons with him, once a year, she began to see me as a set-back, I guess..."

"Bitch," Fiona muttered, and my eyes snapped to hers. "Sorry. She's still your mother. But she was acting like a bitch."

I shook my head. "She's not my mother," I told her firmly. "From where I'm sitting, you're more qualified to be a mother than she ever was, and you raised your siblings. Like I said, it would've been nice to go through hell with somebody else, instead of braving it solo."

"Well, you must've come for a reason, other than just for a job, or to find love," she said, casting a knowing glance Lip's way.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just waiting for the call from the courthouse to get my records to see what's what when it came to my birth."

Fiona sits back, crossing her arms. "Sounds like you have a mystery to solve."

I nodded. "Mystery of a lifetime, Fiona," I replied.

. . .

Dr. Fairfax called me into the office the following morning; I had to practically drag myself out of bed, I was so exhausted from my sets the night before. Kevin was even talking about hiring bouncers _inside_ the bar, as the "groupies" were becoming a bit too enthusiastic, once they'd drunk their dinner and paychecks away. Kevin was always extremely patient with me, and all I had to do was just mention if some customers were giving me a hard time. He had a three-point warning system: Explain, Exaggerate, and Expel. If they didn't get the explanation, or the exaggeration of it, then they would be expelled from the bar for the rest of the night. After they committed the offense three times, then they were out of The Alibi for good.

I drove downtown again and got to the modern-looking doctor's office and surgery building, parking in the free lot next door and making my way over, already missing my car's air-conditioning. Trudging into the office, I took the elevator to the correct floor and made the receptionist aware that'd I'd arrived. After checking in, I perched in the chair, waiting ten minutes for someone to collect me to bring me in to see Dr. Fairfax.

It was a shock to me when Dr. Fairfax herself arrived, and collected me personally, bringing me back to her office with beautiful oak paneling. After briefly considering how many trees had to die to make her office possible, I perched in the offered seat and gripped on tightly to my purse, hands in my lap. She and I were officially branded innocent bystanders in the execution of trees and cows respectively, but this was an official occasion, and I had to do my best to at least attempt to remain somewhat professional.

"Scarlett, I thought it would be the personal thing to bring you here personally to give you the results of your physical," Dr. Fairfax said, once the pleasantries were out of the way.

I smiled, doing my best to straighten in my seat, anything for my doctor to be convinced that I was listening to her. "Thank you, Dr. Fairfax, that was very considerate of you" I replied. "I'm ready whenever you're ready, then."

"Wonderful," Dr. Fairfax said, pulling my file towards her, the name SCARLETT DAVIES appearing in bold on the lip of the folder. "It seems you are in excellent health. You mentioned you were worried about your weight, and while it falls on the higher end of the acceptable weight for your height on the BMI index, you are still in range, so there's nothing to worry about. When you get more information on your biological family, we will be able to tell you more. As of right now, however, we only have your own information to go on, so I'm unable to tell you what you are truly at-risk for, based on lifestyle choices alone. You mentioned you don't smoke?"

"Cigarettes, no," I replied. "Marijuana, yes."

Dr. Fairfax nodded. "That's nothing to worry about, then. And how's your drinking?"

"I'm a social drinker" I replied. "I mean, I'll have a drink or two after work a few times a week, but I'm not out there getting wasted all the time, and I always walk home and go straight to bed afterwards, so no heavy machinery."

"Oh, we always know our limits—it's an instinctual thing," Dr. Fairfax explained. "But most women can have three drinks and still be all right."

"I cap it at two, just to be safe," I said. "Who knows? Maybe one of my birth parents was an alcoholic or something. Don't want to test the waters..."

"Of course not," Dr. Fairfax said, looking over her report one more time. "Oh, and I wanted to ask you if you've begun taking birth control yet?"

I sighed, my shoulders falling—I knew there was a catch to all this face-to-face stuff. "No, Lip and I haven't slept together yet, and it's pretty much off the table for now, and I haven't had the time to fill the prescription yet."

"Lip?" Dr. Fairfax asked.

"Lip Gallagher," I replied. "I guess you could call him my boyfriend—I don't know. We haven't really established that either. But we're not sleeping together yet so I don't know what you would classify a person you're just hanging out with us..." I shrugged. "Search me, I mean, I've never been in a situation like this before."

"Hanging out with someone and not sleeping with them?"

I laughed. "No, I've done that, with pretty much everyone I've been in contact with throughout my life. I mean, hanging out with someone where there's feelings involved, an attraction, and you're not sleeping with them."

Dr. Fairfax nodded in understanding. "I guess you have to see where the road takes you, Scarlett, in this journey with Lip, is it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, well, we'll just have to wait and see."

I left Dr. Fairfax's office, her words of getting me to commit to getting on the pill weighing heavily on my mind as I head outside and into the parking lot. I unlock my car, deciding to just go home and crash for a while before my sets that night. My next day off was the following day, which was good, because I was expecting the call from the courthouse any day now. Driving back towards my apartment was a non-issue, and I parked in my designated spot in the lot before heading upstairs and climbing back into bed. I set my alarm for three-thirty, to ensure I'd have plenty of time to get ready and put my face on for the night.

Lip came to The Alibi that night, and was there to cheer me on. When he walked me home that night, we had the nearly-spontaneous heavy petting sesh that we always seemed to have whenever he said goodbye to me so late at night. I kissed him goodnight for the final time, prying myself away from him and making my way back upstairs. I took another shower, wanting to get the smell of cheap beer out of my skin, but disappointed that I would have to wash out Lip's scent as well. Pushing the thought from my mind, I headed to bed, deciding to have a wonderful nights' sleep that night and to forget everything.

I awoke with a start around noon the following day, shocked at the sound of my cell phone ringing, and immediately made a grab for it. I missed the call, and since I was unfamiliar with the number, decided to let it go to voicemail. No voicemail was left, however, which frustrated me deeply, so I decided it had to be a telemarketer. Getting out of bed, I threw on some jogging clothes and decided that a long run was what I needed on my day off.

I got out of my apartment and just ran, my jogging playlist on repeat if necessary; I just needed to get out of my place for a while and just not think. Some days had been like this—during my childhood and teenage years—when I just didn't want to think about anything. I knew it had to do with my illnesses, deep down, but it was so hard to explain to people that I just didn't bother doing so anymore. I was tired of people saying that everyone felt that way sometimes and all I wanted to do was be alone with my thoughts—or lack of thoughts—and I was sick and tired of people saying that I was selfish for feeling that way.

 _Fuck them, Scarlett_ , my mind told me.

 _Thank you, Mind_ , I replied.

Somehow, being so lost in my thoughts kept me out far longer than usual, because by the time I got back to my apartment, it was after five. I had to mentally remind myself that Kevin had given me the night off, so I didn't have cause to worry about that. Heading upstairs, I texted Lip, telling him about my day off and wondering if he wanted to hang out. I immediately plugged my phone in and headed to the shower, wanting to appear presentable regardless of what my plans were that evening. I came out a few moments later, a missed call from the same number greeting me, as well as a voicemail, and a text from Lip.

I listened to the voicemail, and swore aloud when I heard it was from the courthouse, informing me that my adoption records had been processed and that they were ready for me to pick them up at my earliest convenience. Rolling my eyes, I pressed the delete button, adding to my calendar that I needed to head downtown to pick them up tomorrow. Taking ahold of my text messaging icon, I pressed it, my heart skipping a beat at the notion of hearing from Lip.

 _Hey Scar—that's great that you get the night off_! _Sorry, but I'm pulling doubles again tonight, but I'm giving Ian's number to you, because he doesn't have plans tonight either. I think it would be good for you guys to hang out_!

Rolling my eyes playfully, I accessed the number and texted tentatively, hoping that Lip hadn't given me the wrong number... _Hey Ian, it's Scarlett. Lip gave me your number and told me that since you and I didn't have plans, we could hang out..._

I placed the phone back on my nightstand, trekking in a towel towards my dresser and debating on what to change into. If I wasn't going out, it didn't matter, but if Ian didn't mind hanging out with me, then I had to wear something appropriate. Ian, thankfully, didn't keep me waiting, and my phone buzzed a moment later, during my inner debate about what to wear. I crossed back to my nightstand, picking up the phone.

 _Sure, Scarlett—would love to hang out_! _Want to come by the house in half an hour_?

 _Hey Ian_! _Would love to_! _See you then_!

I returned to my dresser, grabbing a pair of black capri jeans and a tank top, slipping them on before returning to the bathroom. I towel dried my hair, before putting in into a long, high ponytail that went to my middle back. With just a few minutes to spare, I brushed my teeth for good measure before grabbing my phone and my keys before heading out. Driving to the Gallagher house this time around seemed different—probably because I wasn't sneaking over in the semi-darkness for a booty call. I arrived just a few minutes after Ian told me was a good time to come by, and I got out of the car, locking it behind me.

My sneakers nearly silent on the pavement, I unlocked the main gate and went up the path and to the front door, knocking three times. I grinned automatically when Ian answered, and was pleased with the hug he offered me as I stepped inside. "So, how's your day?" I asked casually as I stepped into the living room, hearing him shut the door behind me.

"Fine," Ian replied. "Patients behaved themselves for the most part."

I sit down on the couch and Ian moves to sit next to me. "You sound like you have the easier job of the two of us—at least, until I can quit my night job," I joked.

Ian laughed. "How do you figure?"

I shrugged, sharing in his laughter. "I don't know. People don't try and grab you and make you uncomfortable..."

Ian laughed louder then. "Oh, I don't know. Some do. I mean, if we get there and they've OD'd on their medication, or other's medication, then, sure, they can get grabby..."

I pulled a face, envisioning that. "Ugh. Okay, I take it back—each of our jobs has its strong points and uncomfortable points."

"I'll take it," Ian replies, getting to his feet. "Want a beer?"

I shrugged. "Sure, thanks."

He nodded, heading to the kitchen which was just a yard away from the couch. "Kevin keeps the bad customers in line, though, doesn't he?"

I made a noise then, a combination of considering that and sarcasm. "Well, he tries. He uses the three E's rule on them."

Ian sticks his head into the fridge, getting our beer, his voice slightly muffled. "You mean: Explain, Exaggerate, and Expel?" he asks.

I laughed. "Yeah. But, then, of course, if they get expelled one night..."

"...they come back the next one," Ian and I say together, and look at each other for a moment, almost as if unsure how our minds worked.

Ian shakes his head after a moment, opening our beers and heading back over to me. "Lip didn't tell me much about you," he confessed then, sitting down and offering me one of the bottles. "I mean, I don't think he did it to be mean, he just figured..."

"That I wouldn't necessarily want people to know?" I asked, and Ian shook his head. "What?" I ask him, confused.

"It's weird—it's like you know what I'm going to say..."

"...and vice-versa?" we say together.

"Jesus," I whisper.

"Dammit," Ian says at the same time, but we share a smile. "But, seriously, Scar. All I really know about you is that you were born here, in the South Side, and that you were adopted at three months, and brought to live in Seattle. You're crazy smart, and you have that job lined up at the firm downtown; you graduated high school at fifteen, and got your Master's Degree at twenty-one. Am I way off-base here?"

I shake my head, lifting the beer bottle to my lips and drinking, put-off by the taste but forcing it down nevertheless. "No, you're not far-off. I mean, that's the abridged version of my life story, anyway..."

Ian smiled, drinking his beer. "Well, I mean, what else is there to know?"

I shrugged. "Well, my dad walked out when I was five, and he and my mom got divorced pretty quickly after that, but he still paid child support... Then my mom met Dr. Normal, my stepfather, six months after the divorce, and married him three months after that."

Ian considers that for a moment. "Why did your parents think about adoption? Were they die-hard humanitarians or something?"

I scoffed at that. "Hardly. My dad's a rock musician who tours the country—I think they did a show in Tokyo last month, so now the world—and my mom is a linguistics professor."

"And how did Dr. Normal come into play?" Ian asks.

"My mom had to get her gallbladder removed," I reply. "Infection or something—I was only five and I didn't know then and I never asked. Dr. Normal performed the surgery and by the time she was awake, he was half in love with her already. I heard my mom telling her girlfriends later that she dreamt of Dr. Normal the whole time she was in surgery."

"Do you believe that?"

I shook my head, taking another sip of beer. "Fuck no. I had my wisdom teeth out at sixteen and jaw-corrective surgery at seventeen, just before my eighteenth birthday. Those drugs they give you? Please. They wipe you out and you only remember counting backwards from ten until they try to wake you up afterwards. No way in hell she dreamt of Dr. Normal, unless they gave her some weird cocktail or something..."

Ian laughed aloud at that, sipping his beer. "Man, you're funnier than Trevor," he said, and then his eyes flashed to mine, almost as if he was scared of my reaction.

"Your boyfriend?" I asked him, knowing that the phrase 'Friend of yours?' was so overused that it was enough now.

Ian's mouth resembled a hard line then. "Did Lip tell you?" he asked me, his voice soft. "Did Lip tell you that I'm gay?"

I smiled at Ian, letting him know that I didn't have a problem with it. "He didn't have to tell me, Ian, really..."

"What? You expect me to believe that you just knew?"

I scoffed at that. "Yeah, pretty much."

Ian sighed, taking another swig of his beer. "What gave it away?"

I laughed aloud at that. "Well, other than the fact that you didn't have a hard-on when we first met, that was something. And I wasn't uncomfortable when you saw me without my top on that time when you walked in on me and Lip..."

"How do you know I didn't have a hard-on when we met?!" Ian demanded, trying so hard to stay mad but he was very nearly close to laughing.

I pursed my lips, giving him an, _Are you fucking kidding me_?! expression. "I may have looked at the outline of your jeans," I confessed, not really embarrassed by it now. "Besides, there was the notion that I was in a strapless crop top and mini-skirt to consider. Please, if you were straight, we both know one thing..."

"What's that?" Ian asked.

I grinned. "Like it or not, you and Lip are pretty similar when it comes to people you like," I replied, still trying not to laugh. "Please. If you were straight, and I was dressed like I was the night we met right now, what would you do?"

Ian sighed, mulling it over as he drank another sip of beer. "Probably what you were doing when I walked in on you and Lip," he replied.

I nodded. "Great," I said, squeezing his arm, which he didn't seem to mind. "You're quite a gentleman, Ian Gallagher. Remember that," I tell him, and we clink our beer bottles together and share another laugh.

. . .

I head to the courthouse the following morning, greeting Marsha and relieved that she seems to remember me. She hands over the paperwork I'd requested, and I thank her profusely before heading back to my car. Getting in and locking the doors behind me, I just sit there for a moment, the folder on my lap, my hands nearly trembling at what lay within.

Thinking it best just to rip off the band-aid, I opened up the folder and let out a groan of exasperation at what I saw. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I screamed, looking down at the paperwork within.

It was a stack of paperwork, to be sure, but everything was blocked out with black Sharpie—well, nearly everything. The only thing that wasn't blurred out was my year of birth, the location of the hospital where I was born, my new name, and my adoptive parents' name. All of this was information I already knew, so I was officially back to square one. I leaned down then, placing my head upon my steering wheel and letting out a frustrated scream, which was only interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing.

Clearing my throat, I looked at the number, and saw that it belonged to the firm. I swiped the green phone icon and placed the phone up to my ear. "Hello, Scarlett Davies speaking," I said politely into the receiver, feeling like such a fraud for using that name, now that I knew it was never truly mine.

"Good afternoon, Miss Davies, this is Hugo Blomqvist," said the voice.

"Oh, Mr. Blomqvist, hello," I said, doing my best to pull back the excitement. "I hope your day is going well, sir."

"Quite well, Miss Davies, quite well. Especially now that Timothy, Alice, and I have gotten the results of your physical examination," he informed me, and I sensed that he had a jovial nature about him, which would certainly make him easier to work with. "It seems as though you've passed the physical examination process, and now that your contractual agreement pre-job has been completed, we would all very much appreciate it if you could come in at nine o'clock tomorrow to begin your job at our firm."

"Tomorrow at nine o'clock is perfect, Mr. Blomqvist," I replied.

"That's fantastic news," he said. "Your office is in its final stages of getting ready. Is there anything we need to know about you? Any allergies?"

I laughed. "I don't drink much, and I don't like coffee. Oh, and I'm lactose intolerant and allergic to penicillin."

"Oh, yes, of course, those allergies were noted in your medical file, but thank you for reiterating them to me, Miss Davies."

"Oh, and please call me Scarlett, Mr. Blomqvist."

"You got it, Scarlett," he replied. "You can call me 'Hugo', and I know that Tim and Allie wouldn't mind if you called them by their nicknames."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Hugo, but I really should head that from them."

"Of course, Scarlett. So, we'll see you at nine o'clock tomorrow for your introduction into the firm, as it were?"

I nodded. "Yes, Hugo. See you then."

"Have a good evening, Scarlett."

"You too, Hugo," I replied, ending the phone call. I knew what I had to do now, and I didn't know if it would be easy or difficult. I opened my texting conversation with Kevin, and sent the following message: _Kevin, any chance we can start the set an hour early tonight, so that I can go home early_? _I will show up early, as we need to discuss some things_.

I waited for his reply, and his, _You got it, kid_ , response immediately put me at ease. Perhaps my last night singing at The Alibi Room wouldn't be so bad. As I sat there, the file folder filled with information that I could not see on my lap, I felt some of my frustration ebbing away, wondering if my mystery would ever be solved.


	4. Boundaries

Chapter Four: Boundaries

Kevin took the news of that night being my last show surprisingly well, and wished me luck in my latest venture career-wise. Lip and I celebrated that night, after my second set ended, and I was home by eleven-thirty that night, ready to have a good nights' sleep before I went into the firm the following morning. I set my alarm for seven-thirty the following morning, knowing that it would be plenty of time to get my briefcase ready, to shower, and to figure out which business suit I would be wearing.

The heels I could've done without, but as I slipped them on the following morning, I knew my feet would attempt to grow used to them, given time. I undid the button on my black suit in preparation for the drive, and crossed my fingers that my skirt wasn't too short. Putting my briefcase onto the passenger seat, I keyed in the address to the firm, which was only about a mile away from the courthouse. I cranked up their air-conditioning and sped off at around eight-fifteen, not wanting to be late for my first day on the job.

When I arrived at the firm, I went straight to the employee parking garage, where I showed my ID and was presented with a temporary parking pass; the attendant informed me that I would receive my real one at some point that week. I thanked him and looked at my assigned parking number, driving this way and that until I found my space. Pulling into it, I shut off my car and made a grab for my briefcase, heading towards the elevators with a quick dash. I was ten minutes early, but I still needed to make a good impression.

When the elevator doors dinged open, I was surprised to see Hugo Blomqvist standing there, his head in his phone, but as I stepped forward, he looked up. "Hugo," I said, putting out my hand, mentally crossing my fingers that he'd be all right with me speaking first.

"Scarlett," he said warmly, taking my hand into his strong grip and shaking it. "Welcome to Blomqvist, Sampson, and Torrance. Good to have you here."

"Good to be here, Hugo," I replied, not minding when he put a welcoming arm around my shoulders with a chuckle. "I'm excited to get a feel for the firm's office space and to get to work on whatever cases you want to put me on, sir."

"Well, we sure do love excitement around here, Scarlett," he replied. "You'll be assisting all three of us, but Allie asked for you personally to be her personal attorney assistant. You'll have an office attached to hers," he went on, as we continued down a hallway with wooden and glass doors, and a pearl-gray carpet, "and you'll have your own secretary, in addition to going through Allie's secretary." He takes me to an office door, marked with the words ALICE TORRANCE, and knocks on it with the knuckles of his free hand.

"Come on in, Hugo!" comes a voice on the other side of the door.

Hugo and I walk into the room, where Hugo beams at having brought me in himself. "Allie, look who I found on the elevator," he proclaims.

"Jesus, Hugo, don't scare the poor girl," Alice Torrance admonished, crossing the room and kissing Hugo, causing my eyes to widen. "Married fifteen years," Alice explains after she pulls away from him, "but I kept my maiden name."

"As is your right, Ms. Torrance," I reply.

"Oh, please, it's Allie," she said, putting out a finely-manicured hand. "I was hardly older than you when I took the bar, and pregnant with our first child by that point," she says with a light chuckle Hugo's way. "Through that door is your office," she explains, nodding to an ornately-paneled door on an opposite wall. "Go on in and have a look," she tells me in an encouraging manner, with a smile.

I returned the smile, stepping towards the door and taking ahold of the massive brass handle, turning it to one side and opening the door. The office was smaller than Allie's, of course, but it was still quite generous in size. It was all done up in cherry, and it had lovely floor-to-ceiling windows behind the cherry desk. There were bookshelves, one on either side of my desk, and another door, leading out into the hallway. Behind the hallway door was a coat rack, and the floor was cherry as well, pleasing me. I'd brought my laptop from home, but I needn't have bothered, as the desk was equipped with a desktop, as well as a bucket of pens and pencils. I went and sat behind the desk, testing out the chair, and pulled open a few drawers for good measure, noticing that some of them had blank file folders in place, reminding me of my own file folder with missing information.

"So, what do you think?" Allie asked, distracting me from my pity party as I immediately raised my eyes to hers.

I slammed the drawer to my desk. "It's amazing."

Allie smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "But?"

I laughed aloud, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "Well, the sun distracts me from getting work done, if I'm being honest," I replied, "and I hate blinds. Do you mind if I acquire some light-blocking curtains?"

Allie laughed at that, her raven tresses bouncing ever so slightly. "Is that all? We have the budget for something that minor, Scarlett, trust me, darling," she assured me.

I blinked. "Thank you," I said, surprised that it was being handled so quickly.

"Leave word with your assistant—you'll meet her shortly," Allie told me. "She's been told to come to you at nine-thirty, where she'll familiarize you with extensions and whatnot. You let her know what you want, and we'll get someone in here to measure for the drapes. Once they have the measurements, they'll give them to your assistant, and she'll place the order according to your color and fabric specifications, if that's all right with you."

I nodded. "That sounds great. Thank you, Allie."

"No problem," Allie said with a smile. "There are a couple of depositions for you to look through today, so other than that and meeting with your assistant, Rachel, I'd say everything is taken care of for today."

I got to my feet then, placing my briefcase on top of my desk and walked over to her, my hand extended towards her. "Thank you for this opportunity, Allie," I said, finding a smile at last. "I won't let you down."

Allie nodded, taking my hand and shaking it. "I know you won't," she replied.

. . .

I spent the next several days working on the depositions that Allie needed for a court case coming up in the next couple of weeks. I needed to be well-versed, she told me, as I would be beside her during trial proceedings and could question witnesses if I wanted to, but only she and the opposing side could question the suspect. I understood this, and told her that I was mainly looking forward to watching the court proceedings, and Allie seemed pleased at the notes I'd taken on the assignments she'd given me in preparation.

I was in the beginning stages of my second week at the firm when I received a surprising phone call from Ian. I got him to hold on, while I got Rachel to hold all my calls for a few moments, before putting the phone to my ear. "Hey, stranger. How are you?" I asked, once I managed to get back to him.

Ian chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Well, I'm fine," he replied. "How are you, Miss Skirt? How's the firm treating you?"

I scoffed back at him. "Only you could get away with saying that, you know," I grumbled back at him in a sarcastic manner.

"Term of endearment," Ian said quietly.

"Now what do you want?" I said, my voice firm with a laugh at the back of it. "I'm very busy and important."

"Well, you saw Fiona last weekend, and you've seen Lip only a time or two since you started the new job and, well..."

"Wait, are you feeling left out?" I asked, straightening in my seat. "Wow, Ian. We haven't even hung out that much. Did I make so much of an impression on you, on our one main encounter, that you want to be friends?"

"Of course I want to be friends," Ian replied. "You're dating my brother, and you're friends with Fiona already, so..."

I smiled. "Could use more friends, I guess," I said quietly.

"What's your schedule like today?" he asked.

I looked over my calendar. "Well, I have to prepare some case notes to meet with this attorney and his client with my boss to potentially negotiate a plea, but it's not until three o'clock, and I'm almost done with the notes..." I checked the time, and it was only ten-thirty. "I can meet you around noon for lunch. Is that cool?"

"Lunch? Can do," Ian replied. "There's this food truck Lip and I like. I'll text you the address—I don't think it's too far from your office."

"Hey, I'll eat pretty much anything," I said with a laugh. "You send me the address and I'll see you there at noon, okay?"

"Great! See you then," Ian replied.

True to his word, Ian sent me the address an hour later, and I was pleased that I was nearly done with the notes by that point. I finished the notes in fifteen minutes before leaving my office, telling Rachel that I was going out for lunch but would be back in plenty of time for the meeting, which she said she would inform Allie's secretary, Cindy, about. I thanked her and continued on my way, making my way towards the elevator and into the parking garage. I got into my car and keyed in the address of the food truck into the GPS system, seeing that it was only ten minutes away from the firm by car.

 _Make it in seven, girlfriend_ , my mind said.

 _Jesus, I don't want a ticket_ , I said back, rolling my eyes and pulling out of my parking space and through the parking lot. I drove along the main road of downtown, ultimately going down a side street and finding the food truck with little issue. It looked like a taco truck—and hey, who doesn't like a good taco... Wait a minute.

I got out of my car and locked it behind me, crossing the street and spotting Ian, waiting beneath a table with an umbrella. Immediately, I grinned at him, pushing my sunglasses up to get a good look at him as I approached. I smiled broadly as he got to his feet and hugged me, before telling me to get whatever I wanted, as lunch was on him.

"No, no, no," I said, shoving him playfully back into his seat. "You called me 'Miss Skirt' on the phone, so you lost lunch-buying privileges, mister."

"You figure?" he asked, obviously trying not to laugh.

"Yes," I replied. "Tell me what you want. I got it today."

Ian rattled off his order and I took it, heading up to the window and placing both our orders, handing over the correct amount of cash, plus a tip for the jar in the window. I grabbed a couple cans of soda for the two of us—as we both needed to get back to work—and brought them back to the table, handing one over to Ian. I watched as he drummed his hands on the table for a moment, obviously wanting to say something, but they called out our order just a minute or two later and he went to get it.

"What's going on with you today?" I asked when he returned to the table, taking my plate and setting it down.

"What?" Ian asked.

I shrugged. "Well, call me weird, but I sort of know what it looks like when somebody has something on their mind..."

Ian sighed. "Lip thinks you're avoiding him."

I nearly choked on my carne asada. "I'm sorry. What?"

Ian looked uncomfortable. "I told him I didn't want to be a messenger here, Scar, but he's my brother, you know."

I sighed, picking up my can of soda and sipping it. "I mean, does he not realize that I'm under a lot of pressure at work?" I asked, not wanting to unload on Ian. "I'm not some person who just walked in there and got a high-ranking position. I have to impress people and work my way up. I mean, my stepdad got me the interview in the first place..."

"You were in Chicago?" Ian asked. "For the interview?"

I shook my head. "No, they were considerate enough to give it to me over Skype," I replied. "It was during midterms and I couldn't miss any classes."

Ian nodded. "I tried to explain the whole thing about jobs and the amount of pressure you must be under," he said quietly. "I think he's just scared."

"Scared?" I asked. "Why would he be...?" Immediately, I felt myself reddening as I lowered my eyes to my lunch. "I see."

"He didn't have to tell me," Ian told me, and I looked up, locking my eyes with his. "I guess I could just kind of tell."

I made a mock grumbling noise. "I should just tattoo a 'V' somewhere on my body. What about my forehead?" I asked.

Ian laughed. "No. Don't ruin it."

"Why? You don't think it would look good?" I joked, turning this way and that.

Ian scoffed. "You'd have to get bangs and god knows that people who get bangs are just plain weird, you know?"

"Totally weird," I said, nodding at him.

"I think he's just wanting some assurance," Ian told me as I picked up my taco again. "I think he's afraid because he's never had to wait this long."

"It's been a month."

Ian looked around then. "Not a lot to do around here when we were growing up," he told me in a quiet voice. "I mean, we had shit to do—school, work, things like that—but we couldn't just go to the mall or something. We needed hobbies."

"Hobbies?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," he said. "I had ROTC and Lip had his books...and sex."

"What is it with you Gallagher's and sex?" I asked. "Why did you all have sex in your teenage years? Not judging or anything..."

"Lip had a lot of girlfriends, and Fiona had a lot of boyfriends... I was with my boss, and our sister Debbie has a daughter, our brother Carl is married..."

"Man, I think I've stepped in a whole other world... Or just stepped on a land mine and I'm in a coma or something..."

Ian laughed. "Maybe."

"But wait... Your boss?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"When was this?"

"When I was sixteen."

"Jesus, Gallagher," I said. "Do you know how many laws are broken there?"

Ian laughed. "Forgot. You're a lawyer."

I shook my head. "Hey, I'm not one to judge, and you seem to know your own mind. I just hope for your sake that it was consensual."

"It was weird—with Kash," Ian said quietly, sipping at his soda. "We weren't really dating, if I'm being honest with you..."

"More like fucking?" I asked, and Ian's eyes flashed to mine.

"Yeah," he replied.

"What stopped it?" I wanted to know.

A shadow passed over his face then, and I was reminded of Fiona when she thought that I had bipolar disorder as well. "Mickey Milkovich," Ian replied.

. . .

I returned back to the firm in plenty of time to still have a few moments to prepare for the meeting with an opposing attorney who wanted a deal for his client. I stepped back into my office, having an hour and a half to complete my thoughts on the case notes, and immediately got to work. After about an hour of preparing, there was a knock on the door that I shared with Allie and I immediately looked towards it, wondering what was happening.

"Come on," I called.

Allie opened the door immediately and looked shaken. "Scarlett, thank god," she said, coming into my office and looking more worried with every step. "There's been a family emergency, I'm afraid..."

"An emergency?" I asked, feeling anxious as I got to my feet. "What kind of emergency? Is there anything I can do?"

Allie looked torn for a moment before she finally permitted herself to speak. "Hugo's and my daughter, Charlotte, has suffered a relapse in her leukemia treatment program," she said, trying and failing to keep her voice from shaking.

"Oh, my god," I whispered, shaking my head. "Allie, I'm so sorry."

Allie smiled sadly. "Thank you," she replied. "Our son, Nicholas, is on his way now to take over for me in the meeting today. He may have to go to court with you on the larger case we've been working on, and he'll be in Hugo's office for the time being."

I nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Meantime," Allie went on, "you'll be taking my place in the hierarchy of the firm and, please, use my office for formalities sake."

"I, uh..." I said, feeling altogether uncomfortable as I looked behind Allie, into her beautiful office, one that I imagined for myself one day. "Is that really necessary, Allie? I don't want to step on anyone's toes..."

"Please," Allie said, her voice hinging on desperation as she stepped towards me. "I wouldn't ask normally but you passed the bar and got your Master's before your twenty-fifth birthday—both feats are impressive, Scarlett, and Hugo and I are very impressed with you. Please, do this as a favor to the both of us."

I sighed, nodding. "Of course."

"Thank you," Allie replied. "Now, you will have both Rachel and my own secretary, Cindy, at your disposal for however long Hugo and I may need to be gone."

"Charlotte lives in Chicago?" I asked, making conversation as I set to work bringing my important things into Allie's office.

Allie shakes her head. "No. Charlotte lives in Los Angeles where she works at a top modeling agency—she's a shoo-in for a promotion to agent, and won't have to strut around in outfits that were made for when the aliens take over..."

Clandestinely, I position myself so that my hair escapes from behind one ear and covers half of my face—the half facing Allie—so as she will not see me smiling at her words. "Well, rest-assured that Nicholas and I will do our best to handle ourselves," I say, taking a good look at Allie's desk chair, but not wanting to sit in it in her presence. "When will Nicholas be arriving here, then? In good time for the meeting, I suppose?"

Allie nodded. "Yes, I assume so." It is then that there's a knock upon Allie's main office door and Allie turns toward the sound. "Come in," she calls.

A six-feet-four drink of water opens the door and enters the room, looking like the perfect blend of Hugo and Allie, and yet looked like one of those people that belonged in a Gucci suit ad, or a Jaguar commercial. His black hair is slicked back becomingly, and his pale skin is to die for; he had a closely-cut beard upon his face, and as he approached his mother, his dark blue eyes looked saddened, likely because of his sister, Charlotte. He took his mother's hands in his and kissed her cheek, before putting a loving arm around her shoulders.

"Mother, I'm so sorry. I got here as quickly as I could."

"Thank you, Nicholas, for hurrying," she replied, patting his cheek. "Well, I've left everything you will need for the meeting this afternoon in your father's office. Oh, and before I forget," she went on, breaking away from Nicholas and coming around to her desk, where she grabbed my hand and quickly pulled me after her, "this is Scarlett Davies."

"The transplant from Seattle?" he asked.

"I suppose one could say that, yes," I replied steadily, putting out my hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Nicholas."

"Likewise, Scarlett," he replied, giving me a cursory glance up and down before lightly shaking my hand and turning back to his mother. "I'll go to Father's office now, let him know I'm here, and then he can show me the files."

"Wonderful, darling," Allie replied, kissing Nicholas on the cheek before he left the room, without so much as a backward glance at me. "He's a really darling boy, once you get used to him," Allie said, nearly gushing now as she crossed back to her desk to gather her things. "He always wanted a briefcase instead of a backpack growing up..."

"How old is he?" I asked, wanting to ask the right questions.

"Twenty-seven," Allie tossed over her shoulder.

"But you yourself said that you and Hugo were married fifteen years," I said, not wanting to be accusatory, but also wanting an honest working relationship.

Allie's perfectly-sculpted shoulders slacked then before she turned around. "Yes, I said that," she replied, looking guilty. "I say that to new employees before I know if I can trust them. Eighteen plus fifteen is only thirty-three, so naturally people assume I'm in my thirties."

"You're not?" I ask, surprised, as she looks wonderful for her age.

"Forty," she replied. "Most people think forty-five, because of how old Nicholas is."

"Oh," I say. "He's not...?"

"No, not biologically," Allie replied. "Nicholas is my younger brother—half-brother, really. I adopted him when I was eighteen, when I married Hugo."

I felt my eyebrows knit together at that, still unsure of the story. "Then why does he resemble Hugo as well?"

"He is Hugo's cousin, but on the opposite side," Allie explained, "so Hugo and I aren't related, and since we were both so academic growing up, we hardly saw each other. It's a little strange to consider, but we fell in love."

I shook my head. "It doesn't sound strange at all to me. It's not like you married your cousin or something like that," I say with a laugh.

Allie laughed softly. "That's true." She stood there for a moment, her laptop case in one hand, her blazer draped over her arm, and her purse in the other hand. "I'll keep in touch, Scarlett, so don't worry about a thing."

I nodded. "Not worrying," I said. "And if you need anything on my end, please don't hesitate to call any of us here. We've got your back."

. . .

The rest of that day and the next were a blur, filled with lots of legal jargon and Nicholas talking a mile a minute. I was beginning to think that he thought I was incompetent, because he didn't even allow me to get a word in. I was tempted to call Allie on Nicholas's behavior, but I knew it would be rude to complain about one of their children when another could have easily been on their death bed. Ian and I got together for a drink at the end of the second day, but I made it clear that discussing Lip was off the table, and Ian seemed relieved that he was presumably off the hook from playing referee.

I arrived at the firm the following day, taking in Allie's morning text message that she likely wouldn't be back in time for court, but that Cindy was contracted to keep her informed of the goings-on, via the transcripts. I went into Allie's office and got behind the desk, crossing my fingers that Nicholas would want to spend the day holed up in Hugo's office, preparing for court, which is what I intended to do in Allie's office. To make matters more complicated, Timothy Sampson had put in for vacation time, and Hugo and Allie had made it clear to Nicholas and me respectively that he was gunning for retirement.

I pushed the thought from my mind as I continued my work on the notes that I would need for court, yet almost felt tempted not to do them, as I somehow felt that Nicholas would prevent me from talking again. Rolling my eyes at his commanding nature and presence, I continued to throw myself into my work, hopeful that we would have a sympathetic judge that would, perhaps, intervene on my behalf. I shrugged the thought off, thinking that it was impossible and, about three hours into my work, I got a phone call.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Sorry to bother you, Scarlett," Rachel said in a rush on the other end of the phone. "There's a gentleman here to see you."

"And did this gentleman give you name?" I asked, typing notes in a flurry, my phone caught between my ear and my shoulder.

"Lip?" Rachel asked, almost as if she was unsure.

Without meaning to, I let out a squeak, feeling caught in a lie as I remembered the numerous unanswered calls and text messages from Lip as I got to my feet, suddenly pulled back to my desk because of the phone's chord. "Please have him directed to Allie's office immediately, Rachel, please," I said, breathlessly.

"Yes, of course, Scarlett," Rachel replied, cutting the call.

I finished my last thought on the seventh paragraph on my court notes, before saving the document and getting to my feet. I smoothed over my white, button-down shirt, tucked expertly into my black skirt, and circled around my desk as I began to hear footsteps in the hallway beyond Allie's office door. I perched on the other end of the desk, hesitating as I waited for the knock to come, and when it did, my heart reached my throat.

"Come in," I managed to choke out.

Lip opened the door and I was relieved to see that he was out there on his own as he shut the door behind him. He hesitated there for a moment before crossing the room towards me and yanking me to him at full force, a gasp escaping my lips as his touched mine, and I felt my arms wrapping around him as our mouths became one. After only a few sweet moments, however, Lip shoved my away from him, and I felt my pained expression matching his as we just took a moment to stare at one another.

"I see that your attraction to me isn't the problem."

"Lip..." I whispered, pleaded.

"You've been dodging my phone calls, Scarlett," Lip said, his tone more pained than accusatory towards me. "I want to know why."

I crossed my arms. "And I want to know why you sent Ian to be caught in the middle of all of this shit, Lip. You had no right to do that."

Lip shrugged. "Why? Aren't you two friends?"

"Of course we're friends!" I shot back. "It doesn't mean you can send your brother, and my friend, to me whenever you have a fucking problem with me! Why didn't you just take it up with me directly, Lip, instead of getting Ian involved?!"

"Because you never answer your fucking phone!" Lip said, punching the wall of Allie's office, which caused me to jump in a moment of shock as I fully absorbed his fury. "Jesus, Scar. What am I supposed to think now? You won't talk to me, and then when I get in here, you're giving me mixed signals!"

"You're the one who kissed me!"

"You kissed me back!" Lip said, and I just stood there, knowing full well that he was right and wrong at the same time. "So, which is it?"

"What, Lip?" I asked, my voice deliberately quiet.

"Do you or do you not have feelings for me, because I seem to recall you informing me that relationships thrive on communication."

I turned towards Lip, shocked that he would even demand such a thing of me, but then felt myself take control of my reserve. "If you really feel the need to ask me that, Lip, then I don't know why you're here at all."

"Point taken," Lip replied, striding towards the door before opening it and slamming it behind him, and I felt myself tense yet again at the noise.

. . .

Our first day in court was four days later, and with Allie's assurances that she and Hugo would be back in a week, I decided to brave facing court with Nicholas. Knowing full well that any opportunities to talk would be short-lived, if permitted at all, I kept silent throughout opening arguments, and felt a breath of relief when the judge gave us an hour for lunch. I got to my feet and gathered my things, walking out of there and coming to a stop the moment I got to the steps outside, for who should be hurrying up them but Lip.

"Hi," he said, looking humbled.

"Hello," I replied.

"Look, I know I acted like an ass the other day," Lip said quietly, "and that was totally uncalled for and I apologize."

I gave him a stiff nod. "I understand."

"Can we talk?" he asked, the humble expression not going away. "Do you have some time to have lunch or something?"

I sighed, but gave him a nod. "There's a bistro just around the corner," I replied. "Follow me." I walked down the rest of the stairs, and Lip moved to follow me as we walked down the block and towards the restaurant. We got a table for two and I slid into one side of the booth, Lip taking the other side, just watching me.

"I was out of line," he said as soon as our drink orders had been taken.

"No shit," I replied, sipping at my ice water.

Lip smiles at that, and I find the corners of my mouth threatening to pull upwards at the promise of his laugh. "Look, Scar, I've never done this before..."

"Dated someone without sex?" I asked.

Lip laughed then, and I found myself pulling my lips inwards to prevent myself from laughing along with him. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

I set down my glass of water and looked around for a moment and, when I realized that no eyes were upon us, I reached across the table and took his hands, something which caused him to stiffen at my touch. "You must know by now how much I want to fuck you, Lip Gallagher," I said, grinning at him, a grin which he returned. "But it's not that easy for me. Remember, you were quick to deduce what I was the night we met."

Lip smiled. "I know. Ian really laid into me the other day when he heard what I did. He said I had no right to talk to you that way."

I squeezed his hands before pulling back, and watched as Lip's own hands trailed after me for a moment before we sat back against the leather seats. "As well he should have." I sighed as the waitress came over, where I ordered a chicken Caesar salad for lunch, and Lip got something along the lines of a pork chop. "Look, Lip, all of this is a lot—a new job, and whatever it is we are to one another..."

"I'd like to consider myself your boyfriend," Lip said quietly.

I smiled. "Well, then I guess I'm your girlfriend," I said. "But seriously, you've got to know that it's going to happen, and soon. I just need to get this Nicholas guy off my back at work. I figure once he's gone, then it'll be the time."

Lip smiled at my compromise, and raised his glass. "I'll drink to that," he said, and we clinked our mutual glasses together.

. . .

Just as I was finally about to get an opportunity to speak in court the next day, Nicholas had to go and ruin it. I had all my paperwork together, and was just about to get to my feet as soon as the judge had left chambers, but Nicholas took my notes onto his side of the table. Immediately, I turned and looked at him in shock, but he shook his head at me.

"After that little display in my mother's office the other day, Miss Davies, I hardly think it's appropriate for you to question anyone in court just yet," he said, giving me a smirk before we rose as the judge came out, and I had to do my best to keep from screaming.

When the judge dismissed us just after five, I got into my car and drove to The Alibi, where I hadn't been since my final show. Kevin knew what a tough day on the job looked like, and he immediately poured me an apple martini. I chugged it down, looking at my phone, seeing that Lip had let me know that he was babysitting Liam again that night. I looked up and towards the other end of the bar, where my heart nearly stopped in my chest. On the other side of the bar sat the one and only Dr. Normal. He seemed to sense my eyes on him then, and when he did, he turned and looked right at me, before lifting up his gin and tonic and cheering me. Thinking I was seeing things, the martini pumping through me, I paid for it and left the bar, getting into my car and driving, wanting to get as far away from there as possible.

I arrived at the Gallagher house, parking outside and getting out of the car. Shaking slightly from the devastation that had been my day in court, I went through the gate and up the path, and knocked on the door three times with a fist full of tremors. When the door opened, and Lip was standing there, shocked, I felt myself fighting to keep it together.

"Jesus, Scar! You look awful! What's going on?" Lip demanded.

"I don't know," I whispered, standing there, trying and failing to hold it together. "I-I just... I needed to see you. I didn't know where else to go."

Lip nodded, striding out onto the porch and putting an arm around my waist, before he tilted my chin up and kissed me. "Better?" he asked.

I met his eyes in the semi-darkness. "Let's go inside," I replied.

Lip raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

I scoffed then. "I'm not sure about anything anymore," I told him.

Lip nodded at that, understanding, before he leaned down and kissed me again. I shoved him backwards, into the house, doing my best not to slam the door behind us. As we staggered into the living room, I already felt my hands itching to get his clothes off. And then Lip and I got onto the couch, struggling to be free of the man's uniform, knowing that this had to be quick, because we wouldn't allow Ian to ruin the moment a second time.


	5. The Longest Day

Chapter Five: The Longest Day

I returned to the office the following day, looking forward to not going to court that day, and relieved at the long recess while the other side looked for more character witnesses. Sitting in Allie's office that day, I felt different, but pushed all thoughts of the last evening out of my mind to focus on my work. Rachel had a few calls for me, as did Cindy, and I threw myself into writing more case notes for the trial, despite the fact that I may have been unable to communicate them myself.

When the phone rang a bit after eleven, I picked it up and put it to my ear. "Hello, Rachel," I said, trying to sound easygoing. "Is everything okay?"

"There's a Fiona Gallagher here to see you, Scarlett," Rachel replied.

I nodded, thinking it was a little strange, but nevertheless feeling pleased at the notion of seeing one of my only friends in Chicago. "Send her in please, Rachel."

"Yes, Scarlett," Rachel said.

I got to my feet, hearing a pair of heels in the hallway a few moments later, and opened the door to see Fiona standing there. I smiled immediately, and Fiona pulled me into a hug before I let her into Allie's office. "Hey!" I said, finally allowing myself to speak as soon as I shut the door behind me. "This is a surprise."

"Well, I haven't seen you in a hot minute and I thought I'd come and check in," she said brightly, smiling broadly.

I fixed a smile to my own face. "Well, that's awfully nice of you. How's Debbie doing? I still need to meet her..."

"She's good—Frances is, too. Debbie really is looking forward to meeting you," Fiona said, and I could tell there was something on her mind.

I bit my lip, attempting to extinguish the awkwardness between us, but I should've known that this confrontation had something to it. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, why wouldn't it be?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it's not like you've ever just come to the firm. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you," I said quickly, not wanting her to be upset with me. "But I just need a reason why..."

"I only have a few minutes," Fiona said, getting to the point as she reached into her purse and produced a black lace bra that I'd worn yesterday, and I very nearly felt my heart stop in my chest because of my impulsive behavior the night before. "I was wondering if you could identify this bra. I mean, it's not mine—my breasts don't look like this—and Debbie's have been different ever since Frances was born, but... I don't know, I mean, why would either of our bras be in the couch cushions?"

I felt myself hesitating. "Where did you...?"

Fiona smiled. "I was just at the house earlier this morning, doing some cleaning, and I found it between the couch cushions..."

I felt myself flushing red immediately. "Oh. Yeah. That," I say, swiping it from her and putting it into my purse. "Sorry."

Fiona raised her eyebrows. "It's yours, then?"

I sighed. "Yes, it's mine. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Fiona looked puzzled by my awkwardness but nodded. "Okay, fair enough. So, you've certainly upgraded the office space..."

"Uh, what?" I asked, not really paying attention.

"No, it's just that, Ian described a much smaller office from the pictures you showed him and Lip when you started here," Fiona went on, and I felt myself flushing deeper at the sound of Lip's name that I turned away. "Is everything okay with you, Scar?"

My eyes flashed to Fiona's. "Yeah. Why wouldn't they be?"

Fiona smiled. "Look, Scar, it's perfectly normal," she said, and I found I was looking at her like she had three heads. "It's perfectly normal, after your first time, that you feel a little off-kilter the next day, but—"

"Whoa, hold up!" I cried out then, backing away from her, not wanting to be close to anyone right now. "Lip fucking _told_ you what happened?!"

"Scar, he didn't need to tell me," she said gently. "New relationship, and having sex with that partner for the first time—"

"Fi, I was a fucking virgin!" I hissed under my breath.

Her dark brown eyes widened. "Oh, Scar. It's okay, really. Look, if you want me to talk to Lip and tell him to give you some space—"

"Fi, just..." I raised my hand to her words, and she stopped talking immediately. "Just please, don't say or do anything. I just... I don't want anyone else involved in this."

Fiona nodded, taking in my words. "Okay," she said simply. She walked towards me then, to hug me, but took note of my body language and gently squeezed my shoulder instead. "Look, Scar, I just want you to know... I'm here."

I gave her a stiff nod. "I know that."

She gave me a small smile. "Well, then... I guess that's all I came here to say, then." She gives me a small wave before walking out the door and shutting it softly behind her.

I find I am gripping the front of Allie's desk then, in an attempt to keep my entire body from keeling over entirely. I hang my head then, feeling shame wash over me at my treatment of her as I try and fail to keep the tears from my eyes. "Fuck," I whisper to myself.

. . .

I left the office at lunch to get some time to myself—I just needed to get out of that environment for an hour, if that, and learn how to breathe again. I drove into the heart of downtown, just driving, my strawberry drinkable yogurt sustaining me from breakfast that morning; I didn't even want to hear the word lunch ever again. As I drove, I thought about pulling off the main drag and just walking—which was never a good idea without ideal footwear—but my sense of adventure won in the end.

Getting out of my car, and after locking it up behind me, I just strolled, not really paying attention to anyone or anything, which caused me to nearly collide with someone coming out of a coffee bar. After a mutual expletive escaped our lips, our eyes met, and I felt a rush of relief when I saw Ian standing before me. Without really knowing what I was doing, I just threw my arms around him in what I assumed was a hug, and he hugged me back, although his arms were more concerned than welcoming.

"Scar? You okay?" he asked, and when I finally pulled back, he got a good look at me. "Fi said she stopped by the firm this morning but that you weren't really in a talking mood."

I sighed. "She was dropping something off."

"Like what?" Ian wanted to know.

I bit my lip and looked around, making sure that nobody was in our general vicinity. "She was dropping off a bra of mine..."

Ian's brows came together then. "I didn't know women shared bras." He threw up his hands when I fixed him with a look. "Hey, I'm not judging, but I always thought that underwear and makeup were the two things you shouldn't share..."

I found myself laughing aloud then, feeling immediately at ease. "You really should find someone else to babysit Liam," I said without thinking.

"Why would I need to find someone else...?" Ian's wind managed to work quickly then as he fixed me with a look. "You and Lip?"

I put my fist into my mouth and swore into it. "Shit," I whispered.

Ian sighed. "Well, you're both consenting adults so no crimes were committed here... Liam didn't come downstairs, did he?"

I gave Ian a pained expression. "To tell you the truth, my mind was kind of fixated on one thing, so forgive me if I wasn't watching out for your brother... Well, _that_ brother," I said, and shook my head at the implications.

Ian smirked. "Well, at least you're honest."

I lowered my eyes, kicking the tips of my heels against the pavement. "Yeah, well, I could've been nicer to Fiona..."

"Hey," Ian said, squeezing my shoulder and causing me to look up at him. "It's all good. Fiona can be pretty understanding when she wants to be."

I gave Ian a small smile. "Like the best of us, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, like the best of us." He hesitated for a moment. "So, did you have a good time last night, or was it not—"

"Shut up," I said pointedly to Ian, not about to discuss the events of the previous evening with another inquisitive Gallagher sibling.

Ian's eyes widened then at my brazen attitude, and I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh at my reply. "Okay," he replied. "Probably shouldn't have asked anyway."

I shrugged. "You get a free pass this time."

Ian looked around then, almost as if he was avoiding checking the time. "I've gotta jet back to work now—"

"Let me drive you," I replied. "I've still got some time and I'd enjoy the company."

Ian smiled. "Great," he replied.

We journeyed back to my car in virtual silence, and I found I felt more secure than I had in a while as I unlocked it to let us both inside. I sat and waited for a moment before I ultimately took Ian's advice on the best route to return him to work that afternoon, and we arrived there in less than ten minutes. I hesitated as we pulled up, and Ian pulled me into another hug, reassuring me that Fiona would not hold this morning against me.

"Yeah, but how do you know?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I mean, I think I majorly fucked up this morning. I had no right to speak to her that way. What's she going to...?" I hesitated for a moment, Ian still staring at me. "I just feel like if I'd pulled that shit at home, I'd get a backhand to the face."

Ian took my head. "You won't get that here."

"But Fiona!" I cried out. "I just... I don't know if I can face her again. I treated her so horribly this morning. Do you think she'll forgive me?"

He nodded. "Yes, she will."

I scoffed then, disbelieving. "Yeah? Why would she?"

Ian thought about it for a moment. "I may have used Lip's identification to join the army to get away from Mickey," he said, and I found myself confused at that name again, knowing that there was a story behind it, but I wasn't wholly comfortable asking.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked.

Ian nodded, smiling at the memory. "Yeah. Anyhow, I kind of freaked out under pressure, and damaged government property..."

"You?!" I cried out.

He laughed. "Yeah—a helicopter. Anyhow, I ended up at a gay club, working nights... It wasn't a pretty picture, but Fiona, and...everybody, stood by me," he said, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, putting down the window and lighting one up. "That's before I went off the rails completely and got admitted," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke.

I sighed, reaching out and taking the cigarette under Ian's skeptical gaze, but I knew how to smoke one of these. "If I ever go off the rails..."

Ian squeezes my shoulder, watching me puff seemingly expertly on the cigarette. "We're all here for you."

I find tears entering my eyes again, shakily reaching out and returning the cigarette to him as I attempted to form the necessary words. "But, why?" I whispered, and Ian looks surprised that I'm allowing him to see my vulnerable side—one I'd only let Lip see for a few moments. "Why would you just drop everything to help me?"

"You're Lip's girlfriend," Ian replied, taking another drag of the poison into his lungs. "That makes you family."

I scoffed and shook my head, taking the cigarette back from him. "No..."

"No, you're not his girlfriend?"

I shrugged. "I don't know what we are, Ian," I said, feeling as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders as he took the cigarette back. "We're something, but... I don't know. I mean, I can't explain my closeness to any of you, I just feel like..."

"Like something underlying is going on here?" Ian asked, and my eyes instantly flashed over to his at his understanding.

I take back the cigarette. "Exactly. Can't explain it..."

He shook his head. "Neither can I, but it's there, for sure," he told me, squeezing my shoulder again with a smile. "Don't think you're crazy. It's there."

I nodded, taking a final drag of the cigarette. "I'll try and keep telling myself that," I replied, and handed it back to him. I forced a smile onto my face as Ian gave me one last grin, before he got out of my car and returned to work.

. . .

I get back to the firm in plenty of time for them not to cut my paycheck for skipping out too long after various people's lunch breaks ended. I head straight to Allie's office, just wanting to put this entire work day behind me, and to plow through some more notes in preparation for court the following week. After about an hour, I received a phone call from Cindy, who had a message from Hugo's secretary, Astrid.

"Miss Davies, Mr. Blomqvist would like a word in his office," she said, always more formal with me than Rachel was.

"Of course, Cindy. Did he say when?"

"Right now, Miss Davies," she replied, sounding nervous.

I forced my voice to sound confident. "Please inform Astrid to tell Mr. Blomqvist that I'll be with him shortly."

"Yes, Miss Davies," Cindy said, cutting the call.

I finished my final thoughts on a witness for the opposing side, barely taking two or three minutes to do so before getting to my feet. I smoothed my suit before I left Allie's office, going towards the first of three wings—Hugo's wing—where I would find Nicholas. My heels sounded like I was important on the carpeted hallway, and as I approached the ornately-carved office door, and rapped my knuckles on it, I was fully prepared to mean business. I was not about to be pushed around further by Nicholas, no matter whose son he was.

"Come in."

Rolling my eyes at the command behind the voice, I turned the massive brass handle and let myself in, shutting the door before Nicholas could shout another command at me. Turning around to face him, I hated the notion of what I was seeing—Nicholas just sitting at his desk, looking over some paperwork. Not only was he being disrespectful by not leveling the playing field, but he was also making me wait when he said he wanted to see me promptly.

"If you didn't need anything, Nicholas," I said, fighting to keep my voice neutral, "I really should get back to the case notes. Although," I went on, before I could stop myself, watching as Nicholas raised his eyes to mine, "maybe I shouldn't bother, considering that you're just using me as a glorified paralegal."

He stiffened at the barb. "If you're on your menses, Scarlett, I highly suggest you take some pain killers and get over it."

I walked over to his desk, heels clicking wildly across the wooden floor, and rapped on his desk in an impatient manner. "You listen to me—I passed the bar, and got a Master's Degree in Criminal Justice and a minor in psychology at twenty-one! You need to stop acting like I'm inferior, just because I'm a recent hire! I've done nothing to you—I'm only here to do my job, but I can't do that if you continue to selfishly step on my toes. I don't know what your problem is, Nicholas, but I'm starting to think you're a chauvinist pig!"

Nicholas looked shocked at my demeanor. "I resent the implication, Scarlett."

"Don't," I reply, "because it's what you are. Own up to your mistakes and let me do my work, Nicholas, or I will tell your mother what you've been up to."

Nicholas got to his feet again. "You wouldn't dare."

I smiled at him, amused that he was acting so sheepish. "Just watch me," I replied, turning around and leaving his office.

As soon as I was outside the door, I breathed a sigh of relief as I returned to Allie's office. Once I stepped inside, I heard my phone ringing, and I crossed my fingers that it wasn't Cindy calling me back to Nicholas's office, or worse, that Hugo and Allie had already got wind of what I'd said to their son. Heart skipping a beat, I crossed the room, picking up the phone and putting it hesitantly to my ear.

"Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Scarlett, it's Rachel," came my secretary's voice, slightly shaking from excitement. "Listen, I want you to know that Judge Whitmore is on line one, wanting to have a word."

"Judge Theodore Whitmore?" I asked, recalling the judge in the case that Nicholas and I were currently working on. "Sure. Put him through."

"Of course, Scarlett," Rachel replied.

There was a click, and then the rich baritone voice of Judge Whitmore filled my ears. "Am I speaking to attorney Scarlett Davies?"

"Yes, Your Honor," I replied. "But, please, call me Scarlett."

"Honey, when we're not in the courtroom, call me 'Teddy'," he replied, sounding like a kind grandfather figure. "I was reviewing the case notes that your firm provided for the Johnny Sanders case, and I had some questions."

"Yes, of course, Teddy," I said, pulling out my copies. "I have my copies right here. What would you like to know?"

"I'd like to know when Nicholas Blomqvist suddenly sounded so eloquent when it came to public speaking, and his words..."

I blinked. "Excuse me, Teddy?" I asked.

"When he questioned the three witnesses yesterday afternoon—Florence Michaelson, Jasper Newton, and Melissa Franklin—it didn't sound like him."

"You're familiar with Nicholas Blomqvist's writing, Teddy?" I asked.

"I'm also a professor at Northwestern University, where Nicholas Blomqvist was a student of mine," Teddy explained patiently. "He did show promise, I can tell you that, but his papers were so one-note..."

"Sir?" I asked, not fully understanding.

"Many kinds of student come through various university doors, Scarlett," Teddy went on. "The legacy students—who choose career paths based on their parents; the over-achievers—looking to make the big bucks out in the world; the slackers—who either don't know the material or don't care to know the material; and then the exceptional ones—the ones who choose a career path because they want to make a better life for themselves and others. I suppose you can guess which one of those Nicholas Blomqvist is."

I shake my head. "I could, but I don't think it's my place to."

"He was a legacy," Teddy explained. "While he showed promise and knowledge of the law itself, his work always lacked appropriate passion. He knew the material, but he had no feeling attached to it, unfortunately."

I sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You, however, Scarlett," Teddy went on, "were an exceptional student."

"Sir?" I asked, surprised that the topic had circled back to me.

"Oh, yes. I have pull at many major universities throughout the United States. Once I learned you were a candidate for a new position at Blomqvist, Sampson, and Torrance, I contacted the professor I knew at your university, and was granted permission to see some of your assignments dating back to when you were sixteen-years-old."

I smiled. "You really didn't have to..."

"Oh, but I did," he said. "And now, what I can't understand is—well, in all honesty, I do understand—why Nicholas Blomqvist is putting his name to your case notes in the court files for this case."

I felt myself stiffen. "Is he?" I ask.

"Don't worry—I have examples of both your work and I know how to tell yours from his, and I know this was all your work."

I lower my eyes. "Well, thank you, Teddy. Thanks for setting the record straight. I really appreciate that."

He sighed. "I know I shouldn't say this, Scarlett, but I was also given access to your permanent record and discovered that you were adopted."

"Yes, that's right."

"Born in the Chicago South Side but raised in Seattle?" Teddy asked. "That's quite a trek. You were adopted at three months."

"I was," I replied.

"I also heard that you're attempting to track down your adoption records and birth certificate, but you're finding...difficulties?"

"Stumbling blocks, that's for sure," I reply. "I received the adoption records, but the only information that wasn't blanked out was what I already knew."

"How peculiar," Teddy put in. "Listen, I had my contacts down at the courthouse expedite the process of your birth certificate from the moment you asked for it and I was aware of the claim you put forth."

"Teddy!" I cried out. "You didn't have to—"

"No, I did," he said, and I could detect the smile in his voice. "The courthouse closes at six o'clock today, and all the necessary documentation is there waiting for you."

I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from screaming with joy. "Teddy! I just... I don't know what to say..."

"Say thank you," Teddy replied.

"Thank you," I said.

"Now, I'll take care of Nicholas to make sure he doesn't upstage you anymore."

"I think I scared him real good earlier, Teddy—I threatened to tell his mother," I say, loving that I could share that piece of information with someone.

Teddy laughed aloud. "Well, that's a stroke of genius, Scarlett, but I think a word from a judge would be just a bit more effective."

I nodded. "Whatever you think is best, Teddy."

"Well, Scarlett, I'll let you get back to work. But make sure you get to the courthouse before it closes today. I have a feeling that you want the mystery to be solved."

"I do, Teddy. Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Goodbye, Scarlett. See you in court next week."

"Goodbye, Teddy!" I cried out into the phone, hanging up.

I sat there for a moment in my desk chair, before I spun around and around then, throwing my hands up into the air. I let out a scream of exultation—I couldn't believe it. The time had come for me to figure out who I truly was. Checking my clock, I saw that it was just after three, so I had almost two hours left at the firm before the final piece of the puzzle was solved. Getting back to work, I typed away furiously at my notes, feeling good that a freaking judge had gone to bat for me, unknowing as to why fortune had dealt me this hand.

The hour and a half seemed to fly by quickly, and I hastily tidied up Allie's office before I gathered up my things and headed out. I walked confidently towards the elevators and into the parking garage, to where my car was waiting, and got inside. Well aware of traffic reports, I found the best way to the courthouse at that hour, and drove like a madwoman towards my destination. Upon arrival, I pulled into the parking lot and just sat there for a moment; it was almost five-thirty, but I just needed another moment before I could solve this piece to my identity, one that I'd come so far to get, and now it was only moments away.

I got out of my car two minutes later, locking it behind me and making my way up the stairs of the impressive brick building. Stepping inside, I found the proper area yet again and was pleased to see that Marsha was working. I selected a number, and when I was called, I was relieved when Marsha was the one holding my documents. I stepped forward, my number in one hand, and my identification in the other, but Marsha merely handed over the folder.

"You must have friends in high places, Scarlett."

I smiled at her. "Oh, I don't know," I said with a shrug. "Do you need anything else from me, or can I just go and figure out the rest of my life?"

Marsha smiled. "Go figure out the rest of your life."

I gave a small laugh, putting the documents to my chest and walking out of there. I made my way back to my car, getting inside and locking up behind me. Opening the documents, I found myself shocked when the names of perfect strangers were not staring back at me. I shut the folder for a moment before I forced myself to open it and look again, but there was no mistaking it, not for a moment. I saw the government of Chicago stamp upon the page of the birth certificate, so I knew that no mistake had been made.

I felt my eyes fill with tears then as I felt myself shaking, not knowing what I was going to do. I couldn't believe that I'd been searching all this time, and now it was right in front of me, but it was not the answer I wanted. Fighting to keep control of myself, I shut the folder forcefully and pulled out of the parking lot, my tires screeching on the pavement, as I drove in the direction of my apartment.

The next thing I did was pull out my phone, where I called the firm. "Rachel, hey," I said, sounding most unlike myself.

"Hello, Scarlett. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," I replied. "Listen, I need to take the next two days off for personal reasons. Court is in recess until Monday, so I'm really not needed there."

"Of-of course, Scarlett." She hesitated for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

I nodded, knowing that I would pay for this later. "Yeah, fine," I replied. I parked in my apartment lot and heading upstairs. "Just tell them that there was a family emergency and that I had some things to take care of."

"Family emergency. Got it," Rachel said.

"Thank you," I said, letting myself into my apartment. "Don't worry about a thing, Rachel, really. I don't want you freaking out on me," I say with a nervous laugh.

"Scarlett, really—are you sure you're okay?"

"Couldn't be better," I replied, getting my duffel bag down from the shelf in my closet, and filling it with clothes. "Just peachy."

"You'll call if there's anything we can do for you, right?"

I nodded, going into my safe just beside my bed, bringing out some of my cash and my passport for good measure. "Of course I'll call, Rachel." I zipped up my duffel bag, placing my passport into my pocket and making a grab for my wall charger. "If there's nothing else?"

"No, nothing else, Scarlett," Rachel replied as I walked down the hallway and let myself back out of my apartment and locked up behind me. "Oh, one thing. What shall I do in the event of people calling for you?"

"Tell them I had a family emergency," I replied, getting back into the parking lot and throwing my duffel in the back of the car. "Attorneys are people, too."

Rachel gave a nervous laugh that time. "People, too," she said as I got into my car and started it off, getting back onto the main road. "Right..."

"If there's nothing else, Rachel," I said, heading onto the freeway.

"No," Rachel replied as I chose my lane—I-57 South. "Nothing else."

"All right," I replied. "I'll see you Monday, then."

"Goodbye, Scarlett," Rachel said, cutting the call.

I keyed in the information onto my GPS system, and it calmly repeated it back to me. "Driving on I-57 South, to Mexico. Approximate driving time, twenty-nine hours."

I gripped the steering wheel then, doing my best not to lose my cool. "Guess I'm going off the rails... All in the family, right?" I muttered to myself, hitting the gas and pulling forward to match the speed of the traffic around me.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Off the Rails

Chapter Six: Off the Rails

I drove all night, not having this much energy since I'd pulled all-nighters in preparation for student court trials in college. When I reached the border, I didn't think twice as I got in line, the desert around me warm and dry, and I found I wanted more of that in my life. I provided my ID and passport to the border patrol, and they let me pass without a second glance. _Fucking Trump's America_ , I thought to myself as I continued along the long stretch of highway. _Trusting white people just because of the color of their skin_...

As I drove, I took a cursory glance at my cell phone, lying in its charging compartment, where it had been since I put it there the afternoon before. It lit up again—Ian was calling for the millionth time—and I couldn't bear it. This time, out of frustration, I ignored the phone call and kept right on driving. The stretch of road continued for as far as the eye could see, and after putting about an hour between myself and the border patrol, I pulled off at the first bar I saw. It was a tequila bar, but I was fully prepared to accept whatever consequences came my way from the moment the foreign drink came to my lips.

I got out of my car, pocketing my keys, ID, and passport in case the bar had a thing about giving alcoholic beverages to foreigners without proper identification. Stepping inside the rural-looking brick building, I caught a whiff of home cooking from the back, but found I did not want to eat, despite not doing so for nearly twenty-four hours by that point. I stepped up to the bar, ordering a tequila sunrise, and the bartender eyed me for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and mixing the drink for me. I sat there, ridged upon the barstool, hoping that nobody in the bar would speak to me. All I wanted to do, in that moment, was temporarily drown out my sorrows in a foreign country—and even though Canada was closer, I didn't care.

"Where you from?"

 _Shit_ , I thought to myself as the bartender placed my drink in front of me. _The damned customers can't keep to themselves, even here_... "South Side," I replied, not wanting to get too technical about my identity as I brought my drink to my lips.

"Of Chicago?"

I cleared my throat at the interrogation, the taste of the drink alien to me as I fought to keep my wits about me. "Yeah," I replied.

"Like it there?"

I shrugged. "I was shipped off to Seattle at three months—adopted," I say, putting as little emphasis into my words as possible. "Just moved back."

"Why?"

"Got a job," I said.

"Doing what?"

"I'm a fucking attorney, okay?!" I say, turning to look at the person speaking for the first time. I looked him up and down—slicked back black hair, silver eyes... Looked like one of the most normal, white-bread people out there. "What?!" I demanded as he looked at me then, as if he'd seen a ghost. "What's your deal?!"

The guy sitting next to me shakes his head, turning to look at the beer in front of him. "Fuck," he said, pushing it away from them. "I spend way too much time here..."

"Alcoholic?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "If you drink to forget."

I scoff then, picking up my drink and downing another sip, my senses already starting to swim out of control. "Oh, yeah?" I asked. "What could you possibly have to forget?"

"A lot of shit."

"Huh," I said, shrugging my shoulders like I didn't care.

"What's your name?"

I rolled my eyes, hating my moniker now. "Scarlett Davies."

"Nice," he replied. "Do you have anything to forget?"

"Yeah, plenty. I mean, normally wouldn't know what you mean but, after yesterday..." I sighed, leaning onto the counter. "Well, let's just say, I found out some shit I should've known a long time ago..."

"Like what?" the stranger asked.

"Like my biological family," I replied.

The stranger nodded, absorbing my words. "Maybe I know them."

I looked over at him again, summing him up. "How could you know them?"

"South Side, born and raised," he replied.

My eyes widened then—something about him, I couldn't explain it, but in that moment, I knew who I was speaking to. "Mickey?" I asked, deliberately keeping my voice quiet.

Immediately, the stranger turned and looked at me, his eyes fearful at the implications of what I was saying. "Do I know you?"

"No," I said, hanging on his every word, "but I know you."

"How?"

"Stories."

Mickey looked shaken at that, unsure of whether or not to continue the conversation. "Has... Has Ian mentioned me?" he asked.

I sighed. "Yes," I said at last, "he's mentioned you."

Mickey dragged his beer back towards him, tipping the last of it into his mouth. "Fuck," he said to himself.

"What?"

Mickey hesitated for a moment, before hastily wiping some tears out of his eyes. "I fucking loved him," he said.

I nodded. "I know."

"You know?" he asked, not looking at me.

I sighed. "I know what it's like to love someone, but, due to circumstances out of our control, we can never be together..."

Mickey turned and looked at me, dashing the tears out of his eyes again. "You look like him, you know," he said quietly, and I felt my face flush. "Like Ian..."

Immediately, I turned away. "We frequently adopt mannerisms of people that we're around on a weekly basis—"

"Speak fucking English!" Mickey said, growing impatient.

I sighed, gripping my drink glass. "People can become similar to those they hang around with a lot," I say, feeling like an elementary school aged textbook. I quickly down the last of my drink and slap the bar for another round, and the bartender quickly complies before going on his way of wiping down the other side of the bar. "I mean, yeah, I hang out with the Gallagher's a lot. It's only natural that I would—"

"You look like Ian in girls' clothing—and with longer hair," Mickey said, and I immediately felt myself turning to look at him. "It's not an insult—Ian's gorgeous."

I shook my head, beginning to chug my drink, my senses beginning to leave me entirely. "Guess he and I have more in common than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

I hesitated for a moment, slowly sipping my drink. "Ian ever run away?"

"Twice," Mickey confirmed.

"I know about the army already," I said. "I didn't know there was a second time."

Mickey sighed, downing the rest of his second beer. "Kidnapped my son."

I feel myself whirl around again to face Mickey, which was a mistake, due to the fuzziness that was going on in my head. "You have a son? How can you have a son?!"

"I'm married," Mickey replied. "My dad made me."

"Why would that son of a bitch make you?!" I demanded of him, already disliking the guy already—having his gay son marry a woman, come the fuck on.

"Caught me and Ian together," he explained. "Hired a prostitute to come over to fuck the gay out of me. Made Ian watch."

I felt the hot tears come to my eyes as I envisioned the scene. "You took control," I say quietly, not knowing how I knew the information. "Took control, to make it seem like you were cured, so that Ian could leave."

"You were in Seattle at the time," Mickey said, shaking his head. "How could you possibly know something like that?"

I shook my head, downing the rest of my drink and slapping the bar for a third. "I don't know how I know the things I know," I said, shaking my head. "I think it all has to do with what I found in those damned documents..."

"Documents? What documents?"

I sighed. "The ones that prove that I've been living a lie all this time, and that my worst fears have been confirmed."

"Fears? What fears?"

"You ever commit a crime, Mickey?" I ask him.

Mickey sighs. "Why the fuck do you think I'm here, instead of back in South Side, with Ian, where I belong?" he asks bitterly.

"You do love him," I say, nodding to myself.

"No shit," Mickey replies, in that same bitter tone, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing a crude etching of Ian's name, minus one 'L'.

"You know, of course, that Gallagher—"

"Ian told me when I showed him."

I reached out then, tracing the crude lettering. "It's over your heart," I say, moved by the notion of the meaning it held.

"Yeah," Mickey replied, not slapping my hand away.

"I'm sorry," I say, my speech halting, due to my drunkenness, as I raised my eyes to Mickey's, and moved to tear my hand away from Ian's name.

Mickey caught me by the wrist then, keeping my hand over his heart. "It's okay."

"Mickey..."

"What?"

I shake my head at him, not caring that we are around a million people, who, thankfully, are each wrapped up in their own lives. "Don't do this."

"It's the next best thing—"

"Do you hear yourself right now?" I whispered, looking at him desperately. "We're each broken inside because we can't be with the ones we love. We can't just fix it—not like this, anyway. If you knew... If you knew the real story..."

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "You don't have to tell me, Scarlett. I've figured it out, so you don't need to say it."

I feel my resolve weakening as I stare at him then, wanting so badly to tear my hand away, but also wanting to fix my pain, no matter now temporary it was. "We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you love Ian..."

"You love somebody too, Scarlett. Who do you love?"

"Lip," I whispered, shutting my eyes and feeling the tears fall. "I love Lip."

"Sounds like your shit you want to forget is even more complicated than mine," Mickey puts in, and my eyes snap open then. "Isn't it?"

"Fucking complicated," I whisper to him, and, even though I know I should, I don't stop it when Mickey Milkovich inches closer to me.

. . .

I drive back to the border as soon as I can, knowing that I will have hours to spend in the car alone with my cell phone. It didn't matter to me; I had spent nearly a day ignoring the outside world, and I just couldn't do that anymore. I knew there would be worried texts and voicemails waiting for me, and I would have plenty of time to read and listen to them all.

As soon as I'd gotten a spare moment, I'd gone to the ladies room and puked for what seemed like hours. All the regret and alcohol consumption came back to haunt me as the information in the documents seemed to hit me at full-force. Where I'd been numb before and going on auto-pilot, it now came at me, like I was suddenly awakened by a nightmare, and had to run to get back to the fray.

Most of the voicemails were from Ian, and they got progressively angrier as they went on, and I was touched that he seemed to care so much.

 _Hey, Scarlett. Called your office and Rachel said something about a family emergency that you were involved in. Um, call me crazy, but you said you didn't talk to your family. What's going on here, Scar_?

 _Scarlett, it's Ian. Come on, I know you're getting these calls. We're getting concerned that you're not calling us back. Please, if something's wrong, we can help. Call me back._

 _Scarlett. Ian. Look, I've called twice already and nothing. You're never like this—you're always on top of things. Please, I'm getting the feeling that something's wrong here. Just call me back and we can figure it out together._

 _Scarlett, stop avoiding the phone calls, please. I've been where you are—something bad happens and I just want to run. If that's what you did, all right, but please come back soon. Come on, Scar, you know we're here for you._

That was about it for Ian's voice messages, but I knew there would be several from Lip. As I drifted through the voicemail, and past Fiona's progressive worrying ones, I felt my heart skip a beat as I got to Lip's. Hesitating for a moment, I let the phone allow me to hear them.

 _Scar, it's me. Please...please don't do this. We're all worried sick. Call one of us, please._

 _Scar, I'm starting to panic. There was a fucking pile-up on the freeway and I'm reading reports like a madman, hoping that you weren't there. You can't be in a fucking car wreck, Scar, you just can't..._

 _I'm starting you think you ran off because it was too much too soon—that we were too much too soon—and I just want to talk. You said that communication was important, remember? Please, just talk to me, Scar, please..._

 _Scarlett? You there? Please. Please, just...just talk to me. I love you—we all love you—and we are seriously in full panic mode here. Just come home, please..._

I couldn't listen to any more messages after that, so I just sat back in my car and attempted to sleep, but sleep successfully managed to evade me as the sky began to lighten. I kept track of the time, and as six o'clock came, I could hear car engines starting up ahead of me. Staying in line, I kept my documentation close and presented it when my turn came, and was welcomed back to the United States. I wasn't looking forward to another day of driving but, I knew, deep down, that the distance would give me time to come up with what needed to be said.

I drive north back the way I'd come, hardly taking notice of anything other than street signs, very aware of how I must look. When I was about an hour away from town, I debated stopping somewhere to change, but decided to wait until I got back to my apartment. Once I arrived, it was mid-afternoon, and I got inside and hopped into a shower immediately. Once the grim of the trip had faded away, I knew I had a lot of explaining to do, but I still hadn't managed to find the words that were necessary.

I drove across town to the Gallagher house, parking in front and making my way up the path and the stairs to the house. I didn't even bother knocking—I just tried the door and, when I found it was unlocked, stepped inside. I heard talking in the living room, suddenly silenced as I stepped in and made myself known, the only unfamiliar face I saw was a young girl with long, brown hair, holding a toddler, who I immediately knew was Debbie. I saw Ian standing with Trevor, who I recognized from photographs, and everyone looked equally shocked at me just standing there, and then the surrounding began.

"Scar!" Lip cried out then, closing the distance between us and attempting to throw his arms around me.

In those fractions of seconds, so many thoughts swirled through my mind—of how much I loved him; of him saying he loved me; of the kind of future we could've had together... However, I dodged his arms, and Fiona's, and ran to Ian, who immediately caught me up into his arms and held me as I sobbed into his shoulder. I vaguely heard Ian saying something to everyone, and then they all shuffled out, the front door opening and closing behind them.

"Would you please tell me where the fuck you've been?!" Ian demanded, holding me at arms-length as soon as everyone left the house. "You had us worried sick! What happened?!"

"Mexico," I replied.

"Mexico?! Why the fuck—?!"

I shook my head at him. "I don't know!" I replied. "Answers, I guess..."

"What do you—"

"I met him, okay?" I said, letting Ian go and feeling myself shaking all over again. "That's what I did down there. I met Mickey."

Ian looked as if someone had stabbed him. "Mickey?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"What did Mickey have to say?"

"He said I looked like you," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "And he said..."

"What?"

"He has a message for you, Ian."

"What's the—?" Ian immediately cut himself off. "Fuck this. I have a fucking boyfriend and he never seems to get that."

"Ian..."

"No," he says firmly. "Just go, Scarlett."

"But Ian—"

"I can't! Not again!" he says, his voice breaking. "Not with him. Please don't put me through that again, Scar, please."

I nodded. "Okay, fine," I reply, turning around and walking out of the house.

. . .

"What was the message?"

I am standing in Allie's office the following day, after somehow managing to get up in time to leave for work that morning. "From Mickey?" I ask.

"No, from the fucking pope. Yes, from Mickey!"

"He loves you," I reply, and Ian looks away from me, not wanting to believe it. "Mickey loves you, and he says he'll always be waiting."

"Great." Ian turns to leave then, opening the door. "Thanks."

"Ian!" I cry out, running forward then, forcing my voice not to break completely. "Please. You can't go. We have to talk."

"Talk was before you ran off to fucking Mexico," Ian said, his voice a hiss. "Not now, Scar. I can't talk to you now," he says, dragging his arm away from mine and walking away.

And so went the next week of Ian avoiding me, and me avoiding Lip and Fiona, who still wanted answers. I was desperate to give them, but I needed to talk to Ian first—once I did, I hoped, at least, he would understand. Court was a welcome distraction, and I was pleased that Teddy Whitmore wasn't asking me about my personal life, which was good, considering the courtroom setting. He did, however, intervene on my behalf with Nicholas, who had to remain in his seat while I questioned witnesses, armed with my own notes.

Once the judge withdrew to chambers to decide his verdict—which he would be deciding the following day—I was permitted to leave the courthouse. As I walked down the steps, I stopped then, seeing Ian standing there waiting for me in his EMT uniform. I hesitated for a moment before I walked towards him, on unsteady legs, which wasn't good when you were walking in the middle of a massive staircase in heels.

"Ian," I said, my voice full of relief.

"You want to talk?" he asks. "Talk."

I sighed. "Look, this isn't going to be easy, but I do know that, in time, maybe we can come to an understanding about all this. So, please, be patient with me."

Ian sighed. "Okay."

I sighed, knowing that I should start at the beginning. "I got a call last week from Judge Whitmore, who was impressed with some case notes of mine," I began. "He's been following me academically, and was so impressed that he decided to do me a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"A legal favor," I replied. "He got my birth certificate."

"So, you know who you are?" Ian asks.

I nodded. "Yes," I replied, feeling my voice shaking as I said it. "I know who I am."

"Tell me, then," Ian said. "Tell me who you are."

"Ian, it's not that simple..."

"Scar, fucking tell me, or don't bother talking to me again," he replied.

I raised my eyes to his. "Ian, please..."

"Fuck this," Ian said, turning around and walking away from me.

"Murphy Gallagher!" I called after him, and Ian stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at me with a horrified expression on his face.

"Scar, what are you...?"

"Murphy. Margaret. Gallagher," I say, chopping up the words into sentences as I reach into my briefcase, handing my birth certificate to him. "See that? Murphy Margaret Gallagher, daughter of Frank and Monica Gallagher."

"Scar..." Ian whispered.

"What?" I asked.

Ian raised his eyes to mine, from where they'd been staring at the birth certificate. "The date. It's the date..." He stammered, unable to speak.

"What about it? I assumed we were Irish twins..."

"We're not Irish," Ian replied, and I felt my eyes widen then.

"What are you saying?" I whispered.

"We're just fucking twins," Ian said quietly.


	7. Escapes and Reversals

Chapter Seven: Escapes and Reversals

I felt like I'd been standing there for hours, but it was only mere minutes, as I stood there looking up at Ian, dumbstruck. Talking rationally had officially gone out the window, and I found that, more than anything, I needed to understand my family. My family—never thought that I'd think that, let alone say it, and now that it was actually happening...

"Scar? You okay?" Ian asked.

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. "Yeah. Yeah, I will be, I just..." I felt my brow begin to furrow then as I squared my shoulders. "I mean, how do you feel?" I asked, not wanting to be subjected to an interrogation. "Are you...I don't know...cool with having another sister?" I asked, mentally crossing my fingers that I didn't sound too desperate.

"Frank hasn't not put his dick anywhere, so it's not so much a surprise," Ian replied, and looked shocked at the expression I gave. "But, let's face it, Scar, there were beginning to be too many similarities to count. What were we supposed to think?"

I sighed, bringing up both hands to the bridge of my nose and shaking my head again. "Just keep your fingers crossed that I don't get arrested," I muttered.

"You'd fit right in if you did," Ian said with a laugh.

"Ian!" I cried out, lowering my hands in exasperation. "This is serious! I mean, what if word gets out that Lip and I...dated?" I asked, not wanting to go too far, especially in public. "It makes me sick just to think..."

"You didn't know," Ian reassures me. "If you honestly didn't know the information, then you can't be held accountable, right?"

I shrugged. "I don't know the laws on this sort of thing, okay? The whole topic just made me uncomfortable, to be honest..."

Ian smiled. "Well, the fact remains that your family—officially now," he says, looking down at my birth certificate.

"What are we supposed to do now, then?" I asked, checking my phone to make sure I had time for this conversation.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked.

I shrugged. "Well...you're the only one who knows..."

"You haven't told Lip? Or Fiona?"

I shook my head. "No. I've been dodging their calls..."

Ian looked around then, looking uneasy and unsure. "Well, you should tell them..."

"How?!" I demanded, talking over him, tears springing to my eyes that I couldn't call back, and I hated myself for it. "How the fuck am I going to talk to them?!"

"Scar..."

"You've got to admit, on some level, at least, how fucked up this is," I say, feeling as if I am going numb at the very thought of it. "What we did...Lip and me... We can't ever take that back, and now..."

Ian closes the distance between us then, pulling me to him in a hug that I immediately feel is just what I needed. As I sob into his shoulder, he just holds me against him, saying nothing. That's what twins are supposed to do, right? Sense the other's needs and thoughts, and just go with it until the one in pain or filled with joy manages to calm themselves enough to complete the conversation at hand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's not your fault, Scar," Ian replies, not letting me go. "It's fucking Frank. He must've done this for some reason..."

I laughed then, feeling nothing of positivity towards my biological father, due to everything that Ian, Lip, and Fiona had managed to tell me about him. "We don't know the circumstances yet, Ian, so we really shouldn't judge... Besides," I say, pulling back to look up at him, "I hate him for what he did to you guys growing up. I should've been there to, I don't know, ward off at least a fraction of the behavior..."

Ian smirked. "Well, we were barely surviving as it was. What's one more mouth to feed when you really think about it?"

I laughed again, wanting more laughter in my life, but I'd cried more than I had now in the last week than I had in my entire life. "I shut off my feelings for so long, because of my family dynamic, and because I had no one to turn to. Now that I have everyone I could've ever wanted to turn to, it feels too good to be true."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, you said so yourself, Ian—there was something between us, we just couldn't shake, and now that we know the reason why..." I shook my head. "Sorry, but it's still unreal to me. I guess I never fathomed having biological siblings, let alone a twin..."

"Yeah, about that..."

"What?" I asked.

"You know that Frank isn't my biological father, right?"

I shook my head. "No, I...didn't know. So, what does that mean for us? I mean, you said we were born on the same day..." My mind began to work then, and I shook my head. "Well, I guess our dear mother Monica must've slept with Frank and whoever your father is in the same week, thus making us twins but only half-siblings...weird."

"Clayton."

"What?"

"Clayton Gallagher, he's—well, we think he is—my biological father," Ian explained. "He's your uncle, actually. He's Frank's brother." Ian pulled at his hair. "It's how I got this, but yours is red, too..."

"A variation of a similar color," I say, shaking my head. "The pigments must've transferred to you and onto me," I joked.

"I don't know if that's how it works..."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Well, I'm a lawyer, not a fucking doctor," I replied, and Ian and I shared a laugh.

Ian turned and looked up at the courthouse. "That douchebag still giving you a hard time?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Maybe," I said, following his gaze towards the massive building before I turned to look at him again. "Why do you want to know?"

"The Gallagher family sticks together," Ian replied. "All I'm saying is, if that jackass gives you a hard time, well..."

"Ian!" I cry out, pulling away from him and smacking him on the shoulder, to which he grinned at me, and I shook my head at him. "Don't sink to his level! Besides," I say firmly, lowering my voice, "Nicholas is my boss's son."

"Oooh, so his name is Nicholas!" Ian said, his eyebrows going up and down. "Is he hot? Maybe we should give him a call..."

"Ian!" I cried, my face turning as red as my hair. "Please! Nicholas is my superior and I don't even want to think about fucking right now, let alone fucking him..."

"Why?" Ian asked, trying to figure out which coat pocket I kept my phone in. "A little angry sex can work wonders..."

"You're a fucking pig," I said, managing to evade his grasp. "I love you, but you're a fucking pig who shouldn't say things like that..."

Ian stopped trying to find my cell phone, his eyes locking with mine. "Wait. You love me?" he asked, sounding strange.

"Well, yeah," I replied, giving him the same expression. "You were my friend first and now that you're my brother..." I shrugged. "Of course I love you."

Ian smiled. "Love you, too," he replied.

I checked my phone again and sighed. "Look, we should table this," I said, knowing I had to get back in there, before I got out of Judge Whitmore's good graces. I reach out then and take back the file folder, which he is still inexplicably holding onto. "We should figure out a way to tell everyone, but..."

"As a family?" Ian asks, smiling.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"One question..."

I smiled. "Shoot."

"Did you tell me first because I'm your twin, or because you can't face Lip yet?" he asked, and I lowered my eyes. "Scar?"

"With Lip it's...complicated..." I say, putting the folder back into my briefcase.

"Because you love him?" Ian asked.

I raised my eyes to his. "I'm not allowed to love him that way," I reply, my voice and eyes betraying me as I turn away from him and go back up to the courthouse.

. . .

Getting back into the courtroom itself was physically fine, but emotionally draining. I shoved open the doors, crossing the room and feeling relieved that Judge Whitmore had not yet come out of chambers. I slipped into the attorney area and onto the correct side of the courtroom, where I joined Nicholas at our shared table, and opened my briefcase, moving around my case notes and gripping tightly to the bottle of water I'd procured from the vending machine down the hallway, and Nicholas gave me a harsh look as I opened it.

"What?" I hissed from the side of my mouth.

He shrugged. "Nothing."

I gave a curt nod. "Fine, then." I checked my phone, seeing that we still had a few moments, so I pulled my notes towards me and scanned the questions I would have for the next witness, just wanting to distract myself from Nicholas.

"Where were you?"

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well that I had to play nice. "What I do on my lunch break is hardly any of your business, Nicholas."

"It is, if you're not present, which could mean that we could lose the headway we've gotten on our trial."

I scoffed, positioning my hair to my other shoulder—it was rather warm in here. "Please—the judge can decide for himself given the criminal history—"

"More like by you having him in your back pocket," Nicholas replies.

Immediately, my eyes snap to his. "And just what are you insinuating here?" I whispered, trying to keep level-headed about this, this horrendous implication that Nicholas was pinning on me, which was, quite frankly, disgusting.

Nicholas shrugged. "Nothing, it's just that you're relatively new to the Chicago area, and suddenly you and Judge Whitmore are all buddy-buddy. I can't help but wonder if there's something more going on here."

My eyes flashed then with rage—I could feel them narrowing as I stared at him. "You're so lucky we're in a courtroom, Nicholas..."

"And why is that?"

"Because I would fucking slap you if we weren't," I replied, turning back to my case notes, my hackles fully raised now.

Nicholas grabbed my wrist then, pulling it towards him, and I looked at the table, but they hadn't noticed what was happening between us. "Go ahead," he said, and I found myself staring at him then, wondering just what he was thinking. "Do it. See what happens."

I managed to yank my wrist back and away from him, knowing exactly what he was after, but I wouldn't allow myself to sink to his level. "Oh, believe me, Nicholas, I know your game, and I won't fall for it."

"My game?"

"To get me out of the attorney game," I replied, shaking my head at him. "Well, it's not going to work, because I know your type."

Nicholas looked skeptical at that, almost as if he was attempting to judge my perception of him in the little time we'd known one another. "My type?" he asked.

"Yes, your type," I said hotly, gripping onto my case notes and attempting to study them. "You think you deserve everything in your life just because it was fucking handed to you—well, it doesn't work that way! You can't solely rely on your parents' accomplishments and just expect to get ahead in life. There are plenty of other people that can do your job, Nicholas—don't think you're the only competent one out there."

"Do you think you could do my job for me, Scarlett?"

I gave a stiff nod. "I could, one day," I replied. "But just because I'm not completely ready for it now, doesn't mean that I know it couldn't happen. I have enough humility to know when I need to learn more before I presume I have enough experience and know-how to step into someone else's shoes."

"You certainly do have a lot to learn, Scarlett."

"You know, maybe I do," I reply, whipping back around to face him, "but at least I have the courage to admit that. Do you?"

Nicholas opened his mouth the speak, but the bailiff entered the courtroom then, announcing Judge Whitmore's presence, causing our conversation to come to an end.

. . .

Court was scheduled as a half-day the following afternoon, meaning that Nicholas and I were expected there promptly after lunch. I dreaded another afternoon in a hot room, being subjected to his presence, but I was relieved to know that I wouldn't have to be in such close proximity to him for the entire day. I arrived at the office just before nine that morning, and Rachel came to meet me, as usual, to inform me of any messages I'd received before I'd come in that morning, or left over from last night.

"Talk to me, Rachel," I said, flashing her a smile and handing over a mango smoothie—her favorite—as I sipped my strawberry one.

"Thank you, Scarlett," Rachel said, always touched that I thought of her, gripping the cold drink in her hand. "Here are your messages," she said, handing me the slips of paper with her hurried, looped handwriting on them. "Oh, and perhaps the biggest message of all..."

"Yes?" I asked, turning around just before the hallway began.

"Hugo and Allie returned this morning," Rachel said promptly. "Red eye from California the night before, landed just before four this morning. They wanted to get back to their normal sleep schedules, so they took a brief nap before coming in today."

I nodded. "All right, then. That's wonderful."

"Allie is waiting for you in her office to debrief you on the next several days," Rachel went on, nodding towards Allie's office. "An emergency cleaning crew came in to clean each office, but you kept most of your things in your office by end of day, anyhow. Everything is as it should be, and Allie is awaiting you now."

"Thank you, Rachel," I replied, smiling at her as I turned around and headed directly to my office at a steady clip. Slipping in, I put my messages down on my desk, finishing the rest of my strawberry smoothie and disposing of the plastic cup before I knocked on the adjoining door of my office and Allie's.

"Come in, Scarlett!" she called.

Smoothing my suit, I opened the door quickly and stepped inside. "Good morning, Allie," I replied, my case notes under my arm, in case she wanted to take a look at them. "The flight and Charlotte were well?"

"Yes, thank you, Scarlett," Allie replied, gesturing for me to sit in the chair opposite her desk, and I promptly moved to do so. "Charlotte accompanied me and Hugo back on the flight. We thought it would be better if she was home with us for a while."

I nodded. "Parents usually know best, I find."

"Did your parents usually know best?" Allie asked.

I sighed. "My adoptive parents—well, my mother, as my father left when I was five—took a hands-off approach..."

"Why do you think so?"

I shrugged. "Well, she got remarried pretty quickly after the divorce was finalized, and then there was the matter of her biological sons—three of them—that came along in quick succession. I suppose she thought she owed her biological children something that she didn't owe me... Oh, well, not like it matters now..."

"I should say not, considering you've just found your biological family."

I lowered my eyes. "Yes, I have..."

"Attorneys and judges talk, Scarlett—we travel in similar circles. Judge Whitmore actually married Hugo and I."

I nodded. "I didn't know you three went that far back."

"He's Nicholas's godfather," Allie said with a chuckle. "I can't believe that, after so long of working together without us here, that Nicholas didn't mention it."

I sighed. "Nicholas's and my conversations... Well, suffice it to say that they consist more of sparring matches than anything else..."

"Sparring? You're not getting along?"

I felt my shoulders slacking then. "Honestly, no," I replied. "I must admit, and I'm not proud of it, but I threatened to slap him the other day..."

"Goodness!" Allie cried, but she looked more concerned than anything else when I looked up at her. "He must've said something atrocious!"

"I think implied is the correct word here..."

"Well, what did he imply, Scarlett?" she asked.

"Well, he... He implied that I had Judge Whitmore in my back pocket, but the insinuation was of something of a more inappropriate nature. That's how I interpreted his words," I say, feeling ashamed at what I was doing.

Allie clicked her tongue and shook her head. "That boy has been coasting for far too long on his name alone... I'll have a word with Hugo about it," she said.

I sighed. "If you think it will make things better. I was pleased—grateful, even—when Judge Whitmore said something on my behalf. He'll actually let me do some work on the business side of things, but the resentment in his eyes..." I shook my head. "I honestly can't place it, Allie. It's almost as if..."

"What?"

"That he made his mind up from the moment we met to dislike me," I said, feeling like a traitor for telling her this about her own son. "I tried very hard, Allie, honestly. I just don't understand why he—"

Allie sighed, cutting me off. "I will speak to Hugo and Nicholas on this matter. It's not acceptable, especially given the announcement..."

"What announcement, Allie?" I asked.

"Timothy informed us while we were away that he is retiring at the end of next month. He's been priming Nicholas as his successor for three years now, while Nicholas worked as a graduate lawyer at Northwestern..."

I nodded. "I see. So the firm will now be Blomqvist, Blomqvist, and Torrance?" I asked, gripping tightly onto my case notes.

"In technical terms, yes," Allie said. "But in light of recent events, I'm tempted to withhold the name change. Nicholas has to have a deeper understanding of the way you treat people before he gets his name on the letterhead."

"Will Hugo see it that way?" I asked. "I know you're married, Allie, but husbands and wives can't see eye-to-eye a hundred percent of the time..."

Allie nodded. "No, you're right. But we've got to make Hugo understand where his loyalties truly lie here. With his son who has coasted his entire life, or with my personal assistant, who is in the right here?"

I lower my eyes. "I appreciate you going to bat for me, Allie," I told her softly, "and for everything else you've done for me. You didn't have to do that."

"Women have to stick together," Allie replies, and I raise my eyes to hers. "Because the more we turn against each other, the less work we can get done where it matters."

. . .

We got out of court the following evening and all I wanted to do was to go home and forget the side eye that Nicholas was giving me that entire day in court. I reached my apartment without much issue of traffic and headed directly upstairs, letting myself in and thinking that a shower was in order. I got undressed and went straight there, just tossing my clothes off as I went like some high-maintenance bitch. Once under the stream of hot water, did I permit myself to come undone as I sobbed beneath it.

Just as I got out, I heard knocks at my front door, and, wrapped in a towel, gathered my clothes and thre them in my hamper before I checked to see who it is. When I saw Lip through the spyhole, I sighed, knowing that it was now or never as I unbolted the door and unhooked the latch and stood back to let him inside without ceremony. As I shut the door behind him, I felt uneasy as it squeaked, but wouldn't allow myself to show my unevenness in front of Lip, so soon after finding out what I knew.

"You've been dodging my calls ever since you got back from god knows where," Lip said as I turned around to face him. "Come on. What's so important? Didn't you get my voicemails? I was worried sick that something fucked had happened to you..."

I leaned against the front door. "I went to Mexico."

Lip looked concerned then. "You went to fucking Mexico?! Jesus, Scar!" he said, running his hands through his hair. "You're as bad as Ian, except this time, you went to the fucking border just to get away from us—"

"It was you I had to get away from, Lip, before we did something stupid again!" I cried out before I could stop myself.

"Stupid?" Lip asked, slowly turning to look at me. "How was it stupid?"

"Not stupid," I whispered, seeing the pain in his eyes and feeling it, too. "I'm sorry. Bad choice of words."

"No shit," Lip replied. He stepped forward, putting his hands on my shoulders, and I stiffened at the affect his touch had upon me. "Whatever it is, Scar, we'll work through it," he said, putting his finger beneath my chin. "Come on," he said, inching closer. "Just stay with me and tell me what's bothering you—"

"Don't," I said, hating myself for my voice breaking as I tore myself away from his hold on me and crossing the room away from him, as I tightened the towel around me. "Don't, Lip... You can't...we can't..."

"Why the hell not?" Lip asked, coming up behind me, his hands gliding over like skin, and I felt hot tears flowing down my face. "I love you—"

"Don't say that," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Don't think that..."

Lip turned me around then. "How do you feel about me?"

"What I feel for you is not how I should feel for you," I whispered, "because, if you know who I was, what I am—who I am—then you would think this was so wrong..."

"Scar?" he whispered. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"You always compare me to Ian," I whispered, my eyes not leaving his. "Now, why do you think that is, Lip?"

Lip looked shaken by my sudden declaration, and pulled back and away from me. "Oh, my god," he said, his voice shaking. "Are you saying...?"

"Yes," I whispered; I couldn't look at him, for I knew I would break even further if I did. "Yes, Lip. I'm your sister."

"Are you Ian's twin?" he asked, and I looked up.

"Yes," I replied. "But I'm only his half-sibling. I'm your full sister."

"God, I don't believe this..." Lip whispered.

"Why do you think I ran?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Why do you think I got the hell out of here the moment I got the news? I was terrified, Lip," I said, this entire conversation like a knife in my heart. "Terrified that I would go to you and that all common sense would go out the window and that you and I would do something we'd regret—"

"I loved you!" Lip cried out, and I felt the words sting my very core. "I called you my girlfriend, and you just—"

"I didn't know," I whispered. "Lip, you've got to believe that I didn't know that there was a remote possibility that you and I were—"

"Fucking siblings!" Lip screamed, and I felt the tears come out faster than they ever have before in my entire life. "We're fucking siblings! I'm in love with my fucking sister!"

"You're not in love with me, Lip," I replied, shaking my head. "This is something else—it's not love, trust me. Just...Google it."

"How could you not have known?" he demanded, coming towards me then, slamming me up against the opposite wall. "Is this just a sick game to you, Scar? Stepping into a new environment like a psychotic social experiment and fucking people over?!"

I shoved him away from me. "What was I supposed to do?!" I demanded. "Wait for a fucking DNA test after I cared enough about somebody to fuck them?!" I cried out. "May as well test the whole fucking city! God knows how many kids Frank has!"

Lip reached out without hesitation, intending to smack me, but I caught him by the wrist. "Let. Me. Go."

"No," I replied. "I would rather not show up to work tomorrow with a handprint on my face, thank you very much. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor."

Lip stared at me then, unmoving, and, for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the boy I'd fallen in love with—not love, not love, but something... "Scar..." He whispered, and the boy spoke, and I felt my resolve weakening.

"Lip," I whispered back, "we can't..."

"You don't want to?"

"That's not the question," I replied. "But we can't. Now that we know it's wrong, we can never discuss it or do anything again."

Lip pulled his wrist away from my grip, walking unsteadily towards the door and placing his hand upon the knob. "I don't care what Google says," he told me after a moment as he turned to look back at me. "I love you, Scarlett," he said, opening the door and walking out of my apartment, the door shutting behind him.

I sank to my knees then, covering my face to prevent everyone from hearing my sobs. "Yeah, Lip, I know," I replied to myself. "I love you, too..."


	8. Every Breath You Take

Chapter Eight: Every Breath You Take

Somehow I managed to drag myself out of bed the following day to get to work; I felt as if I'd gone numb, just going through the motions of getting ready before I left my apartment and went downtown towards the firm. Even though Hugo and Allie had returned to the office now, I knew they would be cutting down their work severely in order to spend as much time with Charlotte as possible. I knew they were beginning a new round of treatment and were hopeful, but Allie had told me it was their third time around doing said treatment, and although they were putting her through an experimental trial, there were no guarantees.

I arrived at the firm in plenty of time, greeting Rachel as I always did; we didn't chit-chat that morning; she just handed over my messages and said good morning to me, which was nice. It seemed to be engraved in her code of honor to know what I wanted, whenever I wanted it, and it was pleasant to know that she suspected I wasn't in a talkative mood at the moment. I went down the hallway and into my office, scanning through my messages and ignoring the ones from my adoptive mother; she had been trying to contact me for over a week now, and I didn't have anything to say to her, so I kept regulating them to the bottom of the pile. I knew I could tell Rachel to tell her that I never wanted to talk to her again, but such a thing seemed so final. After all those years of her rejection of me, a part of me hated myself for still wanting her approval, and I'd do anything not to think in those terms.

Judge Whitmore had postponed his verdict until the following Monday, as the opposing side had managed to drudge up more witnesses, and far be it from us as a firm to forbid them from having a fair trial, no matter how despicable they were. I had a meeting scheduled with Hugo, Allie, and Nicholas for ten-thirty that morning, to discuss the future of the firm, and a later one at two-thirty, to discuss strategy for the case. I didn't have anything to prepare for that first meeting, so I decided to go through my notes and come up with further questions for the witnesses I was permitted to question on the stand.

Ten-thirty arrived and I went with Allie to the big conference room, where we were due to meet Hugo and Nicholas. I was pleased to have both Allie and Hugo there to act as a buffer, because no matter how much Nicholas disliked me, he would do everything he could to act accordingly in front of his parents. As we stepped into the conference room, Nicholas greeted his mother warmly, and I knew this would be considered a prime example of an adoption success story if I ever saw one. As I slipped into my seat beside Nicholas, I shuffled my trivial notes and pulled them towards me, raising my eyes to Hugo and Allie, and waiting for either of them to begin our meeting for the future of the firm.

"As I'm sure you both know, Tim has decided that his retirement will be effective by the end of next month," Hugo began. "With Tim retiring, Allie and I have decided to create a dual position for his successor."

"A dual position, Dad?" Nicholas asked, straightening in his seat. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"It was a suggestion made by me, that I think will be the most beneficial to the firm," Allie said, placing her hand atop Hugo's. "While your father and I believe that you've put in some good work, we feel that Scarlett has as well."

"What are you saying right now, guys?" Nicholas asks, his eyes flying to me as I lower them to my notes. "Her?! Are you insane?!"

"Watch it, Nicholas," Hugo said, cutting across his son. "Your behavior towards Scarlett has been abhorrent of late—in fact, ever since you came to work for us on a regular basis. I'm ashamed that we weren't here to see it, and that Teddy had to get involved. He had such high hopes for you, son, but Scarlett has proved just as efficient, if not better, in her junior position, so a change must be made."

"And what will that entail?" I asked, not looking up.

"A significant salary increase, plus your own office," Hugo began.

"You'll also be entitled to an associate attorney, but you will keep Rachel as your secretary, of course," Allie continued. "And, at the end of the year—not calendar, of course—we'll see about making you an offer for a partnership."

My eyes snap to Allie's. "A partnership?!" I demand.

"For her?!" Nicholas cried out. "You've got to be joking!"

"Nicholas—" Allie began, her tone warning.

"No, seriously," he said, cutting across his mother, his tone enraged. "Scarlett's been here for five fucking minutes, and you're about to surrender power to her unconditionally—"

"A trial period will be in place until the first of the year," Hugo said calmly. "But, I can see that Teddy was correct about her strategy, both in and out of the courtroom. Her work output and quality has been impressive, and I'm very pleased she came here to work with us."

"Dad, you don't get it!" Nicholas cried out, getting to his feet and pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. "She's been _sleeping_ with him—"

"Shut _up_!" I screamed, getting to my feet and facing him fully. "I thought we cleared up this matter but it seems we haven't—not yet. I'm sick and tired of being judged by my apparent lack of experience. Go through my personal files if you want—debate team and government classes dot my résumé from the very beginning. If you honestly think I'm sleeping with anyone, it's none of your business, but hook me up to a damned polygraph because I have not, nor will I ever, sleep with Teddy Whitmore!" I cried out. "The fact that you wish to paint me as an unprofessional overachiever is more painful than you can ever imagine, Nicholas Blomqvist, and I will never forgive you for these disgusting implications against me!" I said, making a grab for my notes and stomping out of there.

I walked down the hall at a fast clip, catching a glance at a clock—seeing that it was barely eleven in the morning—and immediately went into my office and slammed the door behind me. I dashed the tears from my eyes and slammed my notes down upon my desk, thinking the entire meeting had been a total disaster. I probably would have to beg Kevin for nights back at The Alibi Room just to make rent for the foreseeable future, I reasoned with myself as I plunked down at my desk and put my head into my hands.

Fumbling for my phone, I pressed the green phone icon and scrolled through my recent calls, mostly from Ian. Pressing one of the logs, and listened to the rings and waited for him to pick up and, when he did, I felt immense relief. "Hey," I said.

"Scar?" he said into the phone, and I could hear the flurry of activity around him as he walked somewhere else to hear me. "You okay?"

"Strategy meeting was a bust," I reply.

"What happened?"

"Nicholas Blomqvist is a total douchebag, but what else is new, really?"

Ian sighed. "Did he attempt to tell his parents about your alleged affair with Whitmore?" he demanded, obviously upset.

"Damn right he did," I muttered. "Son of a bitch is out to ruin me. I've tried being nice, I really have. Just can't seem to get him to reciprocate friendly behavior."

"Well, he's an asshole," Ian replied. "Listen, I'm finishing up some work here, but do you want to get lunch in an hour?"

"Yes," I replied, hoping he would say something like that.

"Great," he replied. "I'll meet you in the usual spot. See you in an hour."

"Thanks. Bye," I reply, hanging up on him.

I spend the next hour reorganizing my desk, not even wanting to think about work or the potential promotion that Hugo and Allie had mentioned for me. I knew full well that, if Nicholas had anything to say about it, it would never happen. Perhaps, I reasoned with myself, he believed I was after the demolishment of the entire firm. He would be completely wrong, of course; I just couldn't understand why he hated me, and I became less and less determined to find the reason why, and more and more determined to figure out how he and I could potentially come together as attorneys in the future.

I left the office just before noon, letting Rachel know that I was going to lunch with Ian and that I'd be back in plenty of time for my second meeting. I'd given Rachel the abridged version of my findings of my biological family, which she had severely edited down before informing Allie and Hugo about it, so the necessary people at the firm understood my need to spend as much time with them as possible. I headed down to the parking garage and to my car, plugging in the address of the food truck on my GPS to find the best way to get there, even in potential rush hour lunch traffic.

I arrived at the truck within fifteen minutes and immediately got out of the car after parking, curbing myself from running across the street to Ian. I threw my arms around him as per usual, and he just held me for a few moments before urging me to sit in the shade while he went to pick up our orders from the window. I made a face at him when I realized he had paid this time, but he waved it away and moved to sit across from me.

"Did the fucker give you any trouble one-on-one today?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. Just in front of Hugo and Allie."

"Jesus," Ian muttered, shaking his head. "Think he'll ever stop?"

I shrugged. "Fuck if I know," I replied, picking up my taco and biting it. "I'm starting to want to teach him a lesson, but I don't know how to go about it..."

Ian watched me for a moment. "You could kill him."

I laughed. "Right. Kill my boss's son and then represent myself. How shall I plead? Not guilty by reason of insanity?"

My twin lowered his eyes. "Well, mental illness runs in our family..."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" I asked, deliberately lowering my voice. "Just because you and I are afflicted with certain things does not mean I'm going to take advantage of the system just to get off..."

Ian smirked. "Well, you could always get Nicholas to understand you in _other_ ways..."

"That's disgusting," I say, trying not to laugh as I opened my can of soda. "Nicholas Blomqvist is a fucking dick. Don't want his near me..."

Ian shrugged. "What if it's...you know?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't give a fuck how large his sex organ is, Ian," I said, shaking my head at him as I took a sip of soda. "It wouldn't matter. He's a jerk. I don't fuck jerks."

Ian considered it for a moment. "Every guy you've fucked is a jerk."

"We're so not discussing my sexual history right now."

"Point taken," Ian replied, opening his soda. "But seriously, Scar, you've got to come up with a way to get Nicholas to respect you. I mean, who knows. The courtroom isn't the way, or your notes, or having his parents or a fucking judge on your side. What methods haven't you thought of yet?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sleeping with him."

Ian throws up his hands. "Okay," he says. "Your choice either way."

. . .

I drove Ian back to work and made my way back to the firm. I'd gotten a call from Rachel that Hugo and Allie were taking a long lunch to spend some time with Charlotte, which meant that Nicholas was looking over things while they were away. I thanked Rachel for the information and, when I arrived back at the firm, knew just where to find him. I made my way to my office first, dropping off my purse and things before leaving the room and walking down the hallway, coming to the center of it, where Tim's office was.

Without knocking, I let myself in and shut the door, automatically narrowing my eyes at Nicholas, who sat rather pompously behind the desk. I knew I had to be the one to break the ice between us; I was sick and tired of his attitude, and people always said that the third time was the charm, right? As I stood there, in those milliseconds, just staring at him, our arms mutually crossed, I was officially ready to have it out with him yet again.

"Please explain something to me, Nicholas."

He had the ardor to raise his chin. "Explain what, Scarlett?"

"Explain what I ever did to make you hate me," I replied, and his eyes actually had some human emotion in reaction to my words. "I can't fathom what I ever did to you; you just seemed to have your mind made up when you met me. You were quite curt, I believe, during our introduction; of course, at the time, your sister had just had her relapse, and I can understand at the time if you were distracted by that fact. But here's the thing," I said, stepping forward, "you had ample opportunity to make my better acquaintance in a more positive manner, but you, for some odd reason, decided not to. And I just can't understand why you would deliberately seek to drive a wedge between me and every other employee at the firm. As I've said, I've done nothing to you, and yet, you seem to want to destroy me. Tell me, Nicholas, why is that?" I whispered, by this time, I am hanging over his desk. "Why do you want to alienate me so far that I'll just lose my mind, and turn and run?"

Nicholas averts his eyes from me then. "Everyone leaves eventually, Scarlett."

"Your parents?" I ask, and his eyes snap immediately to mine.

"What do you know?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not much. I know about your familial relationships with Hugo and Allie, and that they married at eighteen..."

"They got married so that Allie could adopt me," Nicholas replied. "They weren't in love yet—that all came later. They made a sacrifice to save me from potential foster care. I was five, and I could've been adopted quickly, but Allie didn't see it that way. She wanted to keep me safe, after what happened to our father and my mother, and she didn't want anything else to break..."

"What happened?" I asked, my voice small.

"Allie's mother died in a car accident when she was six months old," Nicholas said. "Her father couldn't bear to remarry, for years—he saw it out of loyalty. But when he met my mother when Allie was thirteen, he wanted a new life, a new chapter, with her. Allie got sent to boarding school and was hardly ever home; Dad spent most of his nights out drinking when my mother became pregnant soon after the wedding. After I was born, and put into the care of a nanny, my father went into a drunken rage one night; knocked my mother down the stairs. My nanny called the police, but my father managed to convince them it was a tragic accident. He remarried a third time—his secretary—and after she was found in a similar fashion, and found to have been pregnant during the fall, my father was arrested. He got life without parole, and Allie managed to use the money to go to law school with Hugo and spent the other money on child care for me. It was a relief, to her, at least, that the adoption went through quickly..."

"I'm sorry," I said, and Nicholas's eyes snapped to mine. "You didn't deserve to go through any of that. I'm sorry."

"I saw it."

"What?"

"When my father killed my stepmother, Joanna. I saw it."

"Why do you hate me?" I asked in a small voice, wanting a clear answer now. "What have I ever done to you?"

"That's what you think?" he asked. "That I hate you?"

"Yes."

Nicholas shook his head, whispering, "Fuck," underneath his breath before getting quickly to his feet and walking towards me then. He made a grab for my shoulders then, and I immediately tensed up at his hold on me, but he didn't let go. He pulled me to him then, kissing me roughly, and I found I was so shocked by it that I shoved him away from me. Nicholas looked so hurt by what I did that something primal within me took over, and I yanked him back to my lips, throwing my arms around his muscular frame.

Nicholas pulled me around then, leaning me down on Tim's desk and fumbling with my skirt, and I made no moves to stop him. I yanked him closer, digging my ankles into his backside, wanting him as close to me as possible. Blindly, I reached up and managed to get his blazer off, and I proceeded to unbutton his shirt. Without warning, Nicholas flipped me over then, so that my stomach was on top of the desk, as he continued to undress me. I didn't protest, and I could hear his belt coming loose then as I tensed up, waiting for him.

I felt myself gasp as he entered me then, and I immediately shoved the side of my hand into my mouth to keep from crying out. I hated this man—I hated, hated, _hated_ Nicholas Blomqvist, but Ian had been right about one thing. It was incredible, his dick, and the feeling of it inside me, clawing my inner senses, was something completely out of this world. As I spasmed beneath him as it neared its end, I gripped the side of the desk with my free hand and cried out then, my hand muffling my scream as Nicholas groaned from behind me.

When I felt him leave me then, I immediately straightened up, pulling up my panties and pulled my clothing into place. I turned around then, attempting to get control of my breathing, and Nicholas's eyes darkened at the sight of me. He leaned into me then, but I sidestepped his attempts to get close again.

"Don't fucking kiss me again," I said, re-buttoning my blazer as I moved towards the door, and doing my best not to stumble, "because I still fucking hate you."

I left Tim's office, walking back down the hallway to my office and slowly shutting the door behind me. I made my way to my desk and sat down again, feeling sore...and loving it. I smirked to myself as I considered what I'd just done with Nicholas Blomqvist—the most loathsome man to ever walk the planet—and _liked_ it. I knew I had to get my priorities in check here; Nicholas and I clearly hated one another, but sexually? Unless I was mistaken due to my lack of experience, Nicholas and I were extremely compatible in that department.

Shaking my head, I picked up my phone, dialing Ian. "Hey," I said when I picked up, sounding slightly hoard.

"Hey," he replied. "You okay?"

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen good," I whispered into the phone.

"What happened?"

I looked around then, making sure that nobody could hear me. "You were fucking right, Ian Gallagher," I replied.

"Oh, no, Scar," Ian said, and I could hear him laughing at me in the background. "Oh, Scar, Scar, Scar. What have you done?"

I giggled. "Ian..."

"Hey, you wouldn't have called if you didn't want me to know," he replied. "Come on. Tell me what happened."

"I fucked him, okay?"

"Fucked who?"

I leaned closer to the phone, not wanting the entire firm to get wind of it. "I fucking fucked Nicholas Blomqvist," I whispered.

Ian let out a cheer on the other end of the phone. "I fucking _knew_ it!" he cried out. "So, tell me, Scar... How'd it go?"

I laughed then. "Um...well..."

"That good, huh?"

I felt myself turning red then. "Absolutely amazing."

"Best you've ever had?"

I flushed deeper then. "Maybe," I allowed. "But there's no way in hell that it's ever happening again, of course."

"Of course," Ian replied, but, of course, neither of us knew from that day until the next how much we could keep our urges in check.

. . .

The second meeting was far more subdued that afternoon; Nicholas was in his element, talking about the case in an animated fashion, and even let me have the floor for several minutes to go over what I wanted to ask my witnesses. I noticed more than once that Hugo and Allie looked more than a little confused at this sudden turn of events, but I would never let on the real reason why things had changed. Of course, it was mere speculation, but since I'd given Nicholas a little something, maybe he figured he owed me this much in return.

"What do you plan to do about Johnny's mistress, Jasmine Jones?" Allie wanted to know, and I pulled the copies of my biography out about her, and passed it around.

"We know that she is potentially illegal," I began.

"Mexican?" Hugo asked, getting a look at her photo.

"No. Dominican," Nicholas put in.

"I haven't been able to find copies of a valid passport or anything like that—I got our P.I. on it a week ago and he hasn't been able to find anything either," I continued. "So, she's either an illegal or living under an assumed name."

"Wait," Nicholas says, holding up his hand as he gazed at the photo.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"That heart tattoo," he said; in the photograph, Jasmine had her arms crossed behind her head, exposing one of her wrists to the camera. "I know this woman..."

"Who is she?" Hugo asked, examining the picture.

"I don't recognize her..." Allie said.

"Jasmina Garcia," Nicholas said, shaking his head. "Some of my friends in human trafficking saw her when she entered the country on a student visa three years ago."

I scanned her biography, which went back a year and a half. "Looks like she upgraded from university life to a crime-filled one," I say quietly.

"Lots of them feel driven to it—either frustrated with their studies or their ways of life just keep chasing them down until they don't have a choice anymore," Nicholas said, actually sounding human for the second time since I'd known him.

"The question is, what can we do about it?" I ask, turning to look at Allie and Hugo. "Is there something we can do?"

"We can talk to the DA," Hugo said, nodding to himself. "If she's willing to trade evidence, and there's actually a danger to her going back home, we can offer her asylum."

"That may bring her over to our side," I say, turning to look at Nicholas. "You know her. What do you think?"

Nicholas thought it over, gazing at the photograph. "I think if we offered her a deal worth her while—no chains or restraints or something like that—but box her in just enough, she could talk about Johnny."

"You really think she could flip on him?" I ask.

Nicholas shrugs. "Worth a try."

"They've been together a long time," I put in.

"It's time for her to figure out who she's really loyal to," Nicholas said firmly, as if the subject was closed forever. "The right side of the law, or the wrong side."

. . .

I arrived sat the firm the following day, feeling a bit better now that Nicholas and I seemed to be on the same page business-wise. He didn't pull me aside or talk to me about what went down in Tim's office, and he didn't need a reason to. We were two consenting adults and we knew what pleasure looked like, so clearly, neither one of us had anything to discuss.

As I entered Rachel and Cindy's shared domain, Cindy immediately turned her eyes to her computer and Rachel got nervously to her feet. As I stepped forward, she smoothed her camisole and sweater combo and looked nervously at me as I handed over a mango smoothie to her. She thanked me, averting her eyes, her shoulder-length black hair concealing a good portion of her face as she stirred the smoothie with her straw.

"Rachel, what's going on?" I asked, my voice firm.

Rachel immediately looked up at me, her green eyes looking worried. "Um, well... Scarlett, it seems you have a visitor in your office."

"A visitor?" I asked, laughing a little as a raised my strawberry smoothie to my lips. "Well, why didn't you say so?" I wanted to know, making a grab for my stack of messages from other clients as I sipped my breakfast. "It's your job to tell me these things, Rachel."

"Yes... I know, Scarlett. It's just—"

"What?" I asked, looking up at her again. "I have another meeting in an hour and a half with Hugo, Allie, and Nicholas. Can you please tell me who's waiting for me in my office, Rachel?" I asked, trying my best to keep my impatience out of my voice.

Rachel looked uncomfortable but nodded. "Your mother is in there..."

"My mother?" I asked, immediately thinking of the mysterious Monica, whom Ian had informed me had passed away. I found myself hesitating for a moment—my thoughts unable to understand what Rachel was telling me—yet all I knew what that the woman who had ignored me for years was a mere few yards away. "My mother is here?"

"Yes, in your office, Scarlett," Rachel repeated, her voice uneasy.

Suddenly feeling sick, I thrust my smoothie at her. "Dispose of this properly, please, Rachel," I said levelly to her.

"Of course, Scarlett," Rachel said as I breezed past.

I walked down the hallway, unease building within me with every step I took. When I reached the main thoroughfare for my office, my heart lurched when Tim's office door opened and I came face to face with Nicholas. I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he wanted to say something first to break the ice.

"Morning, Scarlett," he said.

"Fuck this," I whispered, crossing over to him and throwing my arms around him. I kissed him for a good few seconds, feeling my body tense up when he pulled me against him, but then I pulled away. "Got to go," I said, giving him a saucy look. "Don't go far, though. I may need you in a little while," I replied, turning away from his shocked expression before I approached my office door and opened it.

My mother had made herself right at home at my desk; thankfully, her perfectly-manicured fingers didn't feel the need to touch anything. Of course, due to her good hearing, she likely could have heard me coming and merely quit touching things the moment I placed my hand on the door handle and turned it. Getting to her feet, her pale blue eyes were as glacier-like as ever, and she gave me a smile on her red lips which did not meet her eyes.

"Hello, Scarlett," she said, offering her hand to me.

"Mother," I replied, shutting the door behind me, but not taking her offered hand. "How may I help you this morning?"

"Well, Norman saw you drinking in a bar recently, and I was just concerned why you would be around unsavory characters," she replied.

I felt my hackles rising—so, I _hadn't_ been insane, and Dr. Normal _had_ been at The Alibi Room the night before Lip and I— "I hardly think what I do in my hours free from work is hardly any of your husband's business," I replied shortly.

My mother raised a perfectly-arched eyebrow, straightening her crimson-colored suit. "Don't forget all that Norman has done for you, Scarlett."

I scoffed. "Right. I did all that, Mother. He may have paid for my books, but everything else was on me. _I_ got those academic scholarships. _I_ got the good grades. _I_ picked a career that he deemed to be suitable. _I_. _I_. _I_. I'm sorry that your biological children are failures and your adopted one that you wanted to sweep under the rug is not. Why do you think I accepted the job out here? It's not because it was my birthplace—that was a coincidence. It was because it was the one furthest away from all of you. I couldn't stand my existence, and now, I have a family who loves and cares for me and accepts me for what I am—a person with thoughts and feelings. Not someone to be shoved in a corner, to be made to feel like they don't belong. Why do you think I worked my ass off growing up, Mother? It was so I could carve out a niche for myself as far away from all of you as possible!"

Immediately, my mother reaches out and slaps me across the face. "You will not speak to me that way, Scarlett!" she screams. "I am your mother!"

"You are not my mother!" I cried out then, not giving her the satisfaction to see me holding my cheek. "A mother does things for their children—and you certainly never did anything to warrant that title!"

"You will show me respect—!"

"You haven't earned it!" I raged, drawing myself up to my full height. "Get the fuck out of my office and never come back! Do you hear me?!" I cried out then, stepping forward, towards her, taunting her—daring her to hit me again. "I never want to see you again!"

"Insolent child!" my mother said under her breath, plowing past me and walking out of my office, slamming the door behind her so that the glass rattled.

I stood there for a moment, leaning up against my desk, before I took my cell phone out of my pocket and switched on camera mode. Getting a good look at my face, I saw that my cheek was only slightly red, and that there wouldn't be any permanent damage, thankfully. I straightened my clothes then, walking towards the door of my office and opening it. I walked down the hallway towards Tim's office and, taking a chance, turned the handle and stood there for a moment in the doorway, taking in Nicholas making a phone call.

He beckoned me into the office, motioning for me to shut the door and held up his finger for me to wait a moment as he continued his phone call. I perched on the offered chair, wondering how many clients had sat there in the past during Tim's fourteen years with the firm. I clasped my hands at my knees, going over what my mother and I had said to one another, and I knew then that I had meant it. I never wanted to see her again, and was fully prepared to take action if she, Dr. Normal, or any of the boys dared to contact me again.

Nicholas completed his phone call after a moment, and when he said my name, it snapped me immediately from my thoughts and back to him, in Tim's office, waiting to see what I wanted from him. In that moment, I only wanted one thing, and one thing only. Even though I knew, as I got to my feet, how potentially unhealthy this all was, but I didn't care. I was hurting, and if this was a way to combat the pain, no matter how fleeting the relief may ultimately be, I wanted relief, and if this was the way to get it, I was game.

"Scarlett?" Nicholas asked, rooting me back to the office. "You okay?"

I shook my head at him. "No."

"Who was that? In your office? The visitor."

I lowered my eyes, sighing. "My adoptive mother."

"What did she want?"

I dashed the tears out of my eyes, hoping he didn't see them. "Everything and nothing," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "Everything for nothing... I don't fucking know..."

"Anything I can do?" he asked.

I snapped my eyes back to his. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, I crossed to him then, my fingers becoming fixed upon his tie, pulling it with one hand and unbuttoning his shirt with my other hand. Seeing what I meant, Nicholas promptly shoved me down upon my stomach onto Tim's desk; it was much faster than it was the first time, to be sure, but it was exactly what we both needed, in that moment, to sustain ourselves and to block out our pain, no matter how short a time that would be.


	9. Read Between the Lines

Chapter Nine: Read Between the Lines

I was physically sore when I got home from work that night, and all I wanted to do was take another shower and go to bed. I unlocked my apartment door and shut it behind me, hearing my phone going off as I shuffled through the living room. Peering at it, I saw it was an incoming call from Ian but I ignored it, telling him I'd just gotten home and wanted to rest. I went into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a cup of yogurt to tide me over until the morning before I walked down the hallway and towards the bathroom.

As I undressed, I realized, my spoon in my mouth, that my phone had been returned to my pocket after I'd ignored Ian's phone call. Rolling my eyes, I pressed the button to check the time, my phone indicating one missed call and one unread text message. Shaking my head, and opened the message—from Ian, of course—and rolled my eyes. He was persistent, at least, I figured as I finished my yogurt.

 _I'll be over in half an hour. Do what you need to do to prepare yourself_.

I let out a mock groan, finishing my yogurt and turning towards the shower, adjusting the temperature to my liking before I stepped inside. I allowed the water to run over my body, feeling relieved when it hit all the right pressure points as I rolled my shoulders. I stepped out a few moments later, wrapping myself in a towel and pulling a comb through my hair before I gathered my things and returned to my bedroom. Tossing away the yogurt container, I put the spoon onto my nightstand to return to the kitchen and shoved my clothes into the laundry basket as I made my way over to my dresser. Fishing out a pair of shorts and a tank top, I put them on hastily and plugged my phone in before I whisked the spoon back to the kitchen and put it into the dishwasher.

A knock at the door normally would've startled me but, thanks to Ian's text message, I knew who it was as I crossed over to it. Opening it, I smiled at Ian, and got a good physical look at Liam for the first time. The small child looked curiously up at me from where he stood on my threshold, holding Ian's hand, and I found myself beaming down at him as I crouched before him, not wanting him to be intimidated by me.

"And you must be Liam," I said, and Liam's eyes widened at the notion that a stranger knew who he was. "It's very nice to meet you," I went on, putting out my hand, which Liam took, albeit hesitantly. "My name is Scarlett. I'm a friend of Ian's. Do you want to come inside?" I asked, getting to my feet. "I just got cable set up in my living room a few days ago, and I'm sure I know what channels you would like."

Liam looked up at Ian, who nodded, and so he stepped inside. He reached for my hand and I took it, leading him over to the couch in the living room and sitting next to him. "I know how to work the remote at home," he said, his voice small.

"Well, that's wonderful," I replied, turning on the T.V. "Let me see... Ah, here we are!" I said, and switched it to the children's networks. "Now, I'm sure you can figure it out from here, if you know how to work the remote at home. Is this show all right?" I asked, handing over the remote and looking at him.

Liam nodded, seemingly transfixed by the bright colors and young people dancing on the screen in front of him. "Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied, squeezing his shoulder gently before getting to my feet and walking into the kitchen, Ian following. "He is so cute!" I whispered, nodding at Liam, who was still seemingly pleased with the channel I'd chosen for him.

"He's your brother, too," Ian whispered, but Liam didn't look over at us.

I tore my eyes away from Liam then, fixing Ian with a look. "Um... Not that I have any problem with it, but—"

"We have a black ancestor...somewhere," Ian replied.

I nodded. "Gotcha. Thanks for the tip," I replied with a laugh, turning towards the fridge and opening it, grabbing a bottle of beer and handing it over to him.

"I didn't ask for—"

I grinned at him. "I'm your fucking twin, Ian," I said with a grin. "I know what you want before you ask for it—well, I can at least anticipate it," I say, knocking the cap of my beer on the edge of the counter, which previous tenants had also seemed to use for it. "Besides, you only live once, right?"

"Sure," Ian replied, doing the same with his beer and sipping it. He leaned up against the counter, checking in on Liam for a moment before turning back to me. "Frank's been sniffing around the place..."

Automatically, as if I was reacting physically to his animosity towards my biological and his surrogate father, I gripped the other side of the counter. "How do you mean?"

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. When he walked in on me and Mickey once, I don't know, he just seemed like he suspected it the entire time."

"Your relationship or the fact that you were fucking?" I asked, taking a swig of my beer, attempting to remain calm about both our pasts, intermingled together like many twins' are, and yet I still felt sick about it.

"We weren't technically together yet," Ian replied, lowering his eyes. "I think I loved him but I don't think for a minute he was ready to love me yet."

I nodded, mulling that over for a minute as I swirled my beer in its bottle. "So, what makes you think Frank is sniffing around?" I ask.

"He's usually so standoffish, but sometimes he can get invasive," Ian said. "But I'll warn you if he's on a bender. I don't want you near him when that happens."

I looked up then, my eyes locking with his. "He hurt you?" I ask.

Ian gave a short nod. "Yeah. Smashed my nose back into my skull pretty good when he was on one of his benders."

"Shit," I whispered, shaking my head and automatically reached out and clasping his hand which gripped the counter. "Now I wish I could've been there..."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, taking another swig of his beer. "Why's that?"

I laughed darkly then. "I'm not someone you'd want to fuck with, Ian."

"Oh?" he asked. "Do tell."

"I wasn't just a debate team deb and government girl," I replied. "Dr. Normal may have been a cold jackass, but he gave me a pretty decent allowance."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, cocking an eyebrow. "How decent?"

"Five hundred a month," I reply. "Which went up to a thousand after I graduated high school. I could've spent it on drugs or booze to get people to like me, but I didn't. I decided to take a more practical approach."

"Nice chuck of change," Ian said, raising his bottle to me. "What'd you end up doing with all that money?"

"Saved some, spent some," I reply.

"On?"

"Self-defense courses," I replied. "I wanted to learn how to defend myself—that was the cover story. The real story was, I wanted to fight if I had to."

"When did you start?"

"When I was thirteen," I replied. "I finished when I was eighteen, when college just became too much for me."

"How'd you graduate?"

I smirked, shaking my head and taking another swig of beer. "Kicked my instructor's ass so good that he told me to never come back. But I got the certification because he was a fucking pussy," I say, and Ian grins at the picture I painted. "He was a _total_ pussy!" I said, nodding at him to let him know I meant it. "Besides, when I heard what he was saying about minorities, he needed to get his ass kicked..."

"What minorities?"

"Race, gender, sexual orientation—you name it! If you weren't a heterosexual white person, you would consider yourself lucky if he gave you time of day." I shook my head, wanting to erase Barry Newman from my mind. "Son of a bitch..."

"Why?" Ian asked.

"It was because of him—well, it became because of him—that I used every trick in the book in the first place."

Ian tightened his grip on his bottle. "What'd he do?"

"Touching," I replied bitterly. "He never went too far—I was still underage. I got my certificate a week after my eighteenth birthday, and threatened to expose him if he didn't hand it over. I guess you could say beating his sick ass was just a bonus..."

"Asshole," Ian whispered under his breath. "What'd you end up doing to him?"

I scoff at the memory, sipping my beer. "Went easy on him—there were witnesses present and I was over eighteen at the time," I reply. "I got him in a damn good headlock..."

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked.

"Yeah. One false move, and his oxygen could've been cut off," I say, smirking at him, and not the least bit sorry.

"Why didn't you cut it off?"

"Again, I was over eighteen, and there were witnesses," I reply, leaning back against the counter and considering it then. "I don't know. I guess we all have demons..."

"Some you left behind?"

I turned and looked at Ian. "Yeah. And on the other side of the boarder."

Ian sighed, placing his beer bottle upon the counter and crossing to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Look, I know tequila was involved and you spent a good portion of the night praying to the porcelain gods. You were not in your right mind, Scar, and, believe me, I've been there. I don't blame you for what happened."

"So, do you blame Mickey?" I ask, not accusing.

Ian shook his head. "I don't blame anyone. I know you think you acted stupidly that night, but come the fuck on. Everyone acts stupid."

I sighed. "I think, when he was drunk, he thought I was..."

Ian made a face. "You're kidding."

I mimic his expression and shake my head. "No. I think that's what drove me to get on my knees and pray to the damned porcelain gods. I wasn't in a good way that night..."

Ian sighed. "I should've known then, if I didn't before..."

I look up at him. "Known what?"

"That you were my twin," he replied, "or, at least, my sister. I mean, you ran off the minute you couldn't handle something. That's what I did."

"Lots of people do that, Ian..."

"Yeah, but you were coherent enough to actively avoid everyone's calls. Not everyone does that," he replied. "Some people text that they're okay just so the other people will leave them the fuck alone, but not you."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I thought that since I'd been alone for the first two decades of my life, I figured..." I sighed. "I figured I could handle it."

Ian pulled me into a hug, and I felt relieved when he did so. "Well, you're not alone anymore, Scar... Which is sort of why I'm here..."

I pushed back from him. "Got ulterior motives, do we?"

He sighs. "Yeah. I want you to come over tomorrow."

I shrugged. "It's Friday. I'm usually over there or with Fiona on weekends. Why wouldn't I see you when I've made a point to do so since I've met you guys?"

"Because you've actively dodged the subject of who you are."

I rolled my shoulders. "Why does that matter? You know and Lip knows. You're my twin and my best friend and Lip... Well, he just had to know, you know?"

Ian grinned. "I'm your best friend?"

I laughed. "Well, yeah. Of course you are."

"Carl's got leave now, and he's coming back," Ian explained. "You need to sit down with all of us—Fiona, Debbie, Carl, and Liam—because they're the ones who don't know. You need to sit down with us. Don't worry—Lip and I will be there."

I laughed again. "Well, Fiona has been wondering why Lip isn't really mentioning me. She thinks we had an awkward breakup and we did—I'll bet money that it was the most awkward reason of all, but..."

"Fiona loves you," Ian assures me, "and although she and I have had our differences, I know she would want to know."

"And Debbie?" I ask.

"She really looks up to you," Ian tells me. "She thinks you have everything figured out, and I think she's hoping some of that will rub off on her."

"Debbie is a sweet girl," I reply. "I've seen her with Fiona a few times." I hesitate for a moment before continuing to speak. "I sense some tension between them, but it could be my minor in psychology working too hard..."

Ian laughed. "No, it's not working too hard. There's been tension for a while now, you're not wrong there."

"About Franny?" I ask, deliberately keeping my tone tentative.

Ian nodded. "Yeah. Fiona and Debbie were pregnant at the same time, but Fiona got an abortion because she wasn't ready. She didn't think that Debbie was ready either, but Frank was oddly supportive of the pregnancy, and so Debbie had Franny."

"Well, she was young, sure, but age doesn't make a good mother. Hell, Tina was twenties when she adopted me and she didn't know what the fuck she was doing..."

"It's a tense subject," Ian said quietly, "but we've all made it work."

"She's lucky," I said softly as Ian turned around to check on Ian, "to have a beautiful little girl like that. Debbie's lucky."

Ian turned around to face me then. "You could have a beautiful girl like that, too, Scar. It's not that hard."

I shake my head. "Belief me, it's not that simple. Nothing about this is simple—moving here, starting my new job, finding you guys... All of it has been so fucking complicated, and I don't know if it'll ever end."

"Scar, it's okay," Ian replied. "Are you nervous about telling the family?"

"Fuck, of course I am," I replied. "But me admiring Debbie's mothering has nothing to do with my sudden outburst," I say, laughing to myself.

"Okay," Ian said. "Tell me, then."

I lock my eyes with his. "I can't have children," I replied.

"Can't, as in won't...?"

I shake my head. "Can't as in can't. I'm physically unable to have a child. My doctor back home told me that when I was nineteen." I shrugged. "Guess it was never something that was supposed to happen for me, you know?"

Ian immediately hugged me again. "Thankfully we live in a day and age where we're not strictly limited to doing it the old-fashioned way," he said quietly. "You've got lots of options, and with your amazing salary, who knows?"

I nodded. "I know. I always thought that I wanted a biological child, you know, because it was before I found you guys," I replied, pulling back from him and wrapping my arms around myself in a protective way. "I guess I figured if I had one biological link to myself out there, that I knew for sure could love me unconditionally, then I wouldn't be lost anymore..."

"Do you think you're still lost, Scar?"

I raise my eyes to Ian's. "No," I reply. "I've been found."

. . .

I was re-buttoning my blouse the following morning, after Nicholas's and my latest tryst in Tim's borrowed office, and smoothed my skirt back into place. "Thanks," I said, casually tossing the word over my shoulder as I moved towards a picture frame of Tim's—boasting one of his three law degrees—to get a good look at my hair. I didn't think the "just fucked" look was really office appropriate, although one could say the same thing about fucking the son of your boss. It just was unprofessional all-round.

"For what?" Nicholas asked; I could see him reflected in the pane of glass upon the picture, re-tying his tie and tucking in his shirt. "You're not thanking me for fucking you, are you, Scar? I thought I had you pegged differently..."

I felt my face flushed as I lowered my eyes. "No, of course I'm not thanking you for that. Stop being a douchebag for five minutes," I said, turning back around to face him. "I want to thank you for being...well, more professional in meetings."

Nicholas shrugged. "You're welcome."

I feel myself smiling a little then as I walk towards the door. "Maybe you just needed another method of venting your frustrations."

"Best way I've found so far," Nicholas replied. "You could come in here any day of the week any lie down on the desk, and I'd be okay with that."

I hesitated for a moment, the bloom in my cheeks deepening at the thought of it. "Just tell me one thing, okay?"

"Sure."

"You don't hate me, do you?" I ask.

Nicholas grinned. "You'll never know."

"Fine, then. Do you still think I'm a bad attorney?"

Nicholas sighed. "Being threatened by you and thinking you're a bad attorney are two totally different things, Scarlett. I think you're a brilliant attorney, which means me being threatened by you was totally warranted."

"Threatened, yes. Rude, no."

He nodded. "Trying to work on that."

I flashed him a smile. "I know you are," I reply, opening the door and slipping out.

I returned to my office and went through the stack of messages that Rachel had handed to me when I'd arrived at the firm earlier that morning. Organizing them in terms of priority, I spent the next hour and a half getting phone calls out of the way, thus distracting myself from Nicholas and all the tether there, plus my conversation with Ian the night before. He was insistent, but I guessed that that was a quality that ran in the Gallagher family. In _our_ family.

I took a hard look then at the name plate on my desk which read SCARLETT DAVIES and then, in smaller print, ASSOCIATE ATTORNEY. It had always felt like an alien moniker to me, and, now that I knew my birth name, I felt like even more of a fraud for still using it. I bit my lip, going onto my desktop computer and typing in the requirements for name changing in the State of Illinois. After finding the information and processing it, I printed out the necessary documents and looked them over, feeling a sense of being whole again after such a long time of being stuck with a name I would never have chosen for myself.

Just after noon, Rachel rang my office, and I quickly picked up the phone. "Hey, Scarlett," she said into the phone. "Someone's here to see you."

"To see me?" I asked, feeling nervous.

"Don't worry—it's just Ian," Rachel said with a laugh.

"Oh, thank god," I replied, shuffling the papers on my desk. "Send him back, please, Rachel. I don't have anything for a while anyway."

"Very good, Scarlett," Rachel replied, hanging up.

I got to my feet as I heard Ian's footsteps, and I opened the door to meet him there. I smiled up at my twin, throwing my arms around him and welcoming him into the office, smelling something delicious coming from the bag he held. I gestured towards the chair on the other side of my desk and moved some things so that he could put the bag down.

"What's this?" I asked.

Ian grinned, holding up his hand and diving into the bag, withdrawing a half chicken, some mac and cheese, two salads, and two cans of soda. "Picnic-style!" he proclaimed.

I rolled my eyes, making a grab for the napkins and spreading them out accordingly, and hiding the name-changing documents in my top desk drawer. "What brought this on?" I asked, handing over some plastic utensils.

"Thought you'd want a change from the truck," Ian replied. "Besides, I thought it was only fair that I came to see you once in a while."

I smiled, shaking my head at him as I sliced the half chicken in half and put some on my own plate, provided by Ian. "Are you just trying to butter me up right now?" I ask, and give him a smirk when he just stares at me. "Come on. Did someone in the family do something? Do they need legal advice?"

Ian shakes his head at me. "I meant what I said last night."

"About?" I asked, cutting a piece of chicken and popping it into my mouth.

"Come on—we didn't even get drunk last night, Scar. I know you remember why I brought Liam over to your place."

"So I could meet yet another one of my siblings under false pretenses?" I ask, fighting and failing to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

Ian sighed. "It doesn't have to be that way, Scar, and you know it."

I leaned back in my chair. "You're talking about this like it's some simple thing. It's not simple, Ian, it's fucking complicated and you know it."

"Maybe because you're making it complicated, Scar."

"I'm not making it anything," I reply, lowering my utensils, my appetite slowly but surely diminishing right before my very eyes. "It's a fucking complicated thing. I mean, at least you and Lip know the full story. Isn't that enough?"

Ian sighed. "Honesty is always the best policy, Scar."

"I know that, Ian," I whispered, my voice hardening, despite the fact that there were tears in my eyes. "Don't you think I know that?"

Ian lowered his utensils and reached across my desk, clasping my hand in his. "I think you know that, Scar. I just think you're afraid."

"Afraid? I'm fucking terrified!" I cried out, gripping his hand. "What if Fiona doesn't want anything to do with me? What if Debbie suddenly thinks less of me because I'm her sister? Or what if Carl doesn't want to meet me? Or what if Liam—"

"What if?" Ian said, cutting me off, causing me to lock eyes with him. "What if they totally love you as much as I do?"

I shook my head. "Lip loved me, and look where that got us."

"You made a mistake, one that you can't take back, but it doesn't make you a bad person," Ian assures me, squeezing my hand back. "You honestly weren't given all the pieces to the puzzle, and that's not your fault."

"I should've waited," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I should've held out longer— _we_ should've held out longer," I said, running it over and over again in my mind. "I mean, it would've been one thing if we just made out a couple of times, but we fell hard, Ian. We fell hard, and we did something that we can never take back..."

"Like I said, not your fault," Ian tells me. "It's not your fault. You've got to realize that some things just aren't in your control."

"Did you figure that out?" I whispered.

Ian turned and looked at me. "What?"

"When did you realize that things were out of control?"

Ian sighed, pulling away from me—he needed his space now, and, instinctively, I understood that, because he was going to open up to me. "When I kidnapped Yevgeny," he replied, and I saw him go back to that time in his mind.

"Mickey's son?"

"Yeah. I'd been pulling all-nighters at the club, and that's when the breaking point happened for me and for Mickey. It was the beginning of the end."

"That caused the breakup?" I asked.

Ian shook his head. "No. No, we held on for a little longer. After we were found, I was put into a hospital to get my symptoms in check, and to get on some decent medication."

"And then?" I whispered.

Ian looked up at me. "I got back from the hospital, and then we were okay for a while. And then it came out from Sammi that I used Lip's documentation to get into the army."

"Sammi?" I asked.

Ian smirked. "Oh, yeah. Our half-sister."

"We have another sibling?!" I demanded.

Ian nodded. "Yeah. So, I was arrested, and then Monica took me in for a while after they released me. I was gone for a while, and then when I got back..." He looked distant for a moment, almost as if he wished he could go back and change things.

"Ian?" I asked, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

He locked his eyes with mine again. "I ended things," he replied, the look of that lost boy never leaving his expression. "I told him he didn't owe me a thing, and Mickey..."

"What?" I whispered.

Ian lowered his eyes. "Told me he loved me..."

I get up from my chair then, circling the desk and putting my arms around his shoulders. "You have absolutely nothing to blame yourself for," I told him. "It wasn't your fault. You were just lost, Ian. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head. "I could've... I don't know, I could've done something...handled it differently, maybe. The whole situation."

"Hey," I said, pulling back and looking up at him. "If we did that to every little failed situation in our minds, then we'd be going around in circles for hours, chasing our tails. It just doesn't help anyone or anything, Ian. It doesn't."

Ian sighed. "You said... Last night, you said that you were found."

I nodded. "Yeah. I said that."

"Do you feel whole?"

I started to say that, yes, I felt whole, but there was more to the equation than that and, as my twin, Ian knew it. "No," I replied. "I don't know if we can ever feel whole."

"Maybe you'd feel more whole if more people knew," Ian said gently. "Maybe if we told them together, the two of us, it would make you feel whole."

I bit my lip, mulling it over. "You really think so?"

"Well, only one way to find out, Scar, and that's to just do it."

I gave a short nod then. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ian asked.

I looked up at him. "You get everyone you want to know gathered at the house tonight. I'll come over whenever you want, with the necessary documentation as proof. If it means that much to you, Ian, we'll tell them. Together."

"You have to want it, too, Scar."

I sighed. "I don't not want it, Ian," I replied. "But I don't think the sheer terror of them finding out is going to go away until we do tell them."

Ian nodded. "Okay. I'll set it up."

I threw my arms around him again. "Don't know what I'd do without you, Ian."

Ian laughed, hugging me back. "You'd survive," he replied.


	10. The Games We Play

Chapter Ten: The Games We Play

After Ian left my office after his lunch break had concluded, I took care of some of the trash that he'd left behind, appreciating that he knew I would want to keep busy before he and I dropped the bombshell later that night. I worked doubly hard on my case notes in anticipation of the verdict being delivered the following week; we'd managed another stay, given that Nicholas and I intended to interview Johnny's girlfriend, Jasmine, in the hopes that she would testify for our side instead of his. If our pledge was successful, Hugo had managed to pull some strings with the local government to get her a temporary visa, which would allow her to stay in the country on a legal basis, depending on her safety back home.

I would be sure to leave by five that afternoon, which would ensure that I would have plenty of time to head home, change, and grab what was left of the six pack out of my fridge. It really wasn't a good idea, I decided, for me to have a lot of alcohol in the house, given what I thought had happened in Mexico. I'd seen flashes of the memories of my night down there, and I hadn't liked what I'd seen. If they proved to be the complete story, or just fragments, I didn't know; what I did know is, perhaps I'd inherited the alcoholic tendencies from my biological father, and I knew that, sooner or later, he was likely to catch on to my true identity as well.

I began finalizing my notes and typing them onto my hard drive onto my desktop and sent copies to Hugo, Allie, and Nicholas, wanting them to know that I fully intended to stay on top of things, despite the approaching weekend. When four-forty-five arrived, I began to tidy the weeks-worth of mess in and around my office space, and gathered the paperwork I intended to take home with me over the weekend—mainly the name-changing documentation. I left my office at five sharp, waving goodbye to Rachel—who was going out for a drink with Cindy that night, as they so often did—and headed towards the elevators. Stepping inside once the chrome box had come to my summons, I pressed the correct parking garage level, and waited to be taken to where my car was waiting for me.

I felt the trepidation about that evening with every step I took, and yet I pushed on, letting myself into my car and driving out of the parking lot. I typed in my address into the GPS, trying to find the best way to get there at this hour, when after-work traffic had the propensity to be heavy. I found the best way for this time of night, distracting myself by listening to various traffic reports as I drove back to my apartment. When I arrived, I pulled into my space in the lot, making my way upstairs and into my unit itself, before undressing and getting directly into the shower, in the hopes that I wouldn't smell like Nicholas when I arrived.

As I considered smells then under the stream of lukewarm water, I found myself considering the smell of Nicholas. It was refined—he wore high-priced men's cologne, but unlike so many on the market, it didn't dilute his own personal scent. Shaking my head as I recalled his hand covering mine as I'd gotten down on the desk yet again earlier that morning, I found I liked the way his scent intermingled with mine. I pushed the thought from my mind, finishing my washing process and getting out of the shower, which could prove to be a dangerous place if one was left alone in one too long with their thoughts.

I wrapped myself in a towel and grabbed a smaller one to dry my hair; since it was so warm that night, I decided to let the air do the rest of the work, as I didn't really feel like breaking out my hair dryer. I went into my bedroom, going into my dresser and pulling out a skirt that was neither work appropriate, nor did it factor into the clothes that Kevin would've approved of for my stint at The Alibi Room. Smirking it myself and pulling it on, I also pulled out a lose top that didn't leave much to the imagination, but it didn't matter. As long as I was covered appropriately, I knew that my family could, at least, begin to accept me.

Leaving my bedroom and grabbing my cell phone from the wall charger near the front door, I went into my file cabinet in the living room and dug out the documentation, proving once and for all that I was a Gallagher child. I sighed, storing it in the individual file folder again and going into the kitchen, retrieving the six pack from the fridge and making my way back to the front door, and grabbing my keys, placed in the dish beside the door. I locked up then before heading directly to the staircase, not wanting to waste my time waiting for the elevator. I practically ran down then, the cool breeze I created as I walked a thrill and a relief to me as I ran towards the front door of the building, locking it up after me as I returned to my car.

I drove directly to the house then, the documents beside me on the passenger seat, the case of beer in the well below them. As I drove, I gently beat out the chorus of _9 to 5_ on my steering wheel, remembering the simpler times of just cruising and having no familial worries—just pressing school assignments. _But, I had a family now_ , I told myself as I got closer and closer to the house, _and now, all that remained was letting them know the truth_.

I parked outside of the house when I arrived, and just sat there for a moment after I'd turned off my car. I kept a firm grip of the steering wheel, and found that, for the first time in weeks, I was tempted to run again. However, I knew I had to push myself out of this funk—Ian would understand me being nervous, and he'd said we could tell the family together. I made a grab for my purse, slipping the documents, my phone, and my keys inside before putting it over my shoulder and making a grab for the six-pack. I locked my car behind me and walked towards the gate, which squeaked, as it always did, when I walked through it. I walked up the path, forcing confidence to go through my veins like there was no tomorrow as I got up the stairs. When I tried the door, I found it was unlocked and I stepped inside, remembering my sudden reappearance from Mexico and how everyone was worried about me. And now, after so many questions and so little answers, they would know why I ran.

"Hey," I said, stepping into the living room and walking towards the kitchen, where Ian was wandering around, obviously making something and having some idea of how to do it. "I didn't know you cooked," I joked, placing my purse on one of the chairs by the counter.

Ian shrugged. "I've picked up a thing or two."

I smirked, shaking my head at him and handing over the six pack. "Alcohol gene," I said quietly to him as he took it. "Can't risk it."

"Wise decision," Ian replied, putting it in the fridge.

"So, anyone here yet?" I asked.

"Liam's upstairs helping Carl fix up the guest room," Ian replied. "Fiona and Lip should be along shortly, and Debbie's out back with Franny."

"I'll go see Debbie, then," I replied, hugging Ian as I walked by and slipped out the back door, and, when I did, Debbie turned around, Franny in her arms. "Hey, Debs," I said, shutting the door behind me and sitting next to her. "How is she today?" I asked, smiling at Franny, who immediately reached out to be held.

"She's fine, but I'll tell you, I'll be thankful for the break," Debbie joked, immediately handing Franny over. She watched us interacting for a moment before she sighed. "Lip ever mention that you look like Ian?"

I felt myself turn red then and nervously laughed it off. "No," I replied. "I think that would've made things, awkward, don't you?"

Debbie looked like she wanted to say more on the subject, but decided to drop it. "Yeah, you're probably right," she replied. "Is that why you broke up? Lack of communication?"

"Who told you we broke up?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Fiona and I had a fight about it," she replied. "I said you broke up, and Fiona says we should wait and hear it from you."

I sighed. "Probably the kinder thing to do in this situation," I reply, gently bouncing Franny on my knees, which made her squeal with joy.

"You're great with her," Debbie said, smiling at the interaction. "You think you'll have kids, if you ever meet the right guy?"

I shook my head. "It's not about meeting the right guy, Debs."

"Oh, sorry," Debbie said, covering her mouth. "If you meet the right girl? Is that why you and Lip broke up? Because you're gay?" she wanted to know.

I laughed aloud then, causing Franny to scream with a burst of laughter herself. "No, Debs. I'm not gay, although I have no issue whatsoever with people who are," I tell her. "I can't have children, and it's just something I have to deal with."

Debbie immediately looked regretful. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

I smiled at her, securing Franny around her middle so that I could clasp Debbie's hand. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. Believe me, it's gotten easier to talk about with time. I mean, when I first found out, I was a wreck."

"Really?" Debbie asked. "You always seem to have it to together. I can't imagine what you in a crisis looks like..."

"When you first met me—well, saw me," I replied. "That was me in a crisis."

"Were you a wreck because you were adopted yourself?" Debbie asked. "Did you want a biological link to you?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that was the reason."

"Ian mentioned you were looking for your biological family," Debbie said, taking Franny back when she began to fuss, calming her down immediately. "Did you find them?"

"Well—" I began, but the door opened behind us.

"Hey!" Fiona said, coming outside, and Debbie and I immediately got to our feet, and I felt bad when Fiona hugged me more enthusiastically than she did Debbie. "Lip! Come on out here! I found where Scarlett was hiding!"

Lip came outside, and I immediately was transported back to my apartment...

" _Are you Ian's twin?" he asked, and I looked up._

" _Yes," I replied. "But I'm only his half-sibling. I'm your full sister."_

" _God, I don't believe this..." Lip whispered._

" _Why do you think I ran?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Why do you think I got the hell out of here the moment I got the news? I was terrified, Lip," I said, this entire conversation like a knife in my heart. "Terrified that I would go to you and that all common sense would go out the window and that you and I would do something we'd regret—"_

" _I loved you!" Lip cried out, and I felt the words sting my very core. "I called you my girlfriend, and you just—"_

" _I didn't know," I whispered. "Lip, you've got to believe that I didn't know that there was a remote possibility that you and I were—"_

" _Fucking siblings!" Lip screamed, and I felt the tears come out faster than they ever have before in my entire life. "We're fucking siblings! I'm in love with my fucking sister!"_

" _You're not in love with me, Lip," I replied, shaking my head. "This is something else—it's not love, trust me. Just...Google it."_

" _How could you not have known?" he demanded, coming towards me then, slamming me up against the opposite wall. "Is this just a sick game to you, Scar? Stepping into a new environment like a psychotic social experiment and fucking people over?!"_

 _I shoved him away from me. "What was I supposed to do?!" I demanded. "Wait for a fucking DNA test after I cared enough about somebody to fuck them?!" I cried out. "May as well test the whole fucking city! God knows how many kids Frank has!"_

 _Lip reached out without hesitation, intending to smack me, but I caught him by the wrist. "Let. Me. Go."_

" _No," I replied. "I would rather not show up to work tomorrow with a handprint on my face, thank you very much. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor."_

 _Lip stared at me then, unmoving, and, for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the boy I'd fallen in love with—not love, not love, but something... "Scar..." He whispered, and the boy spoke, and I felt my resolve weakening._

" _Lip," I whispered back, "we can't..."_

" _You don't want to?"_

" _That's not the question," I replied. "But we can't. Now that we know it's wrong, we can never discuss it or do anything again."_

 _Lip pulled his wrist away from my grip, walking unsteadily towards the door and placing his hand upon the knob. "I don't care what Google says," he told me after a moment as he turned to look back at me. "I love you, Scarlett," he said, opening the door and walking out of my apartment, the door shutting behind him._

 _I sank to my knees then, covering my face to prevent everyone from hearing my sobs. "Yeah, Lip, I know," I replied to myself. "I love you, too..."_

"Hey," Lip said, stepping forward, kissing me awkwardly on the cheek and turning towards Debbie and Franny, the latter of whom he pulled into his arms, and Franny let out a happy shriek at the attention. "Carl just came downstairs with Liam. You should come in."

"Yes, you haven't met them yet!" Fiona cried.

"I met Liam last night," I replied, and Fiona turned around.

"You met Liam?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Ian swung by my apartment."

Fiona nodded at that. "Huh," she said, taking in the information.

When we stepped inside, I immediately caught sight of Carl where he sat with Liam at the kitchen table. Carl got to his feet when he came in, ambling over to me and immediately giving me a hug, which caught me off-guard. Catching Ian's eye, I hugged him back, before Carl pulled away and I immediately dropped my arms to my sides.

"Well, Carl, it's wonderful to meet you," I said.

Carl grinned. "Nice to meet you, too, Scar. Nice to finally put a face to all those letters that Lip was sending me."

I felt my face flush. "Did he?" I asked.

"Sure!" Carl replied. "Anything to see the girl Lip's in love with!"

I stood there for a moment, staring at Carl, before I managed to propel myself towards the back door again, and heard it slam behind me. I stood on the back porch, gripping the top of the ledge that would keep anyone from jumping off, and found that I was shaking. Part of me wished that I hadn't found the evidence, confirming what I'd already known. Perhaps, then, things could've been a lot less complicated, and even though I knew I'd done the right thing in the eyes of the law, I'd done the wrong thing for my heart.

I heard the door open behind me then, thinking it was Ian, but my skin immediately prickled when I heard the voice and the door shut behind it.

"Who else knows?"

I sighed, shutting my eyes against Lip's voice. "Only you and Ian know."

"Why are you here?"

I turned around then, sighing. "Because I have to be. I have the documentation in my purse inside the house. I'm telling them tonight. Ian says I have to tell the truth, and that's what I intend to do, Lip." I sighed then, knowing I had to say this. "No matter what I might feel, I have to come clean to the rest of them."

Lip nodded then, his gaze locking with mine. "How do you feel, Scar?"

I sighed. "It's not that simple, Lip."

"Just... Just tell me," he said, and I felt horrible for making him sound so vulnerable. "Look, I know it's crazy, and I know it's wrong, believe me, but..."

"Lip," I said, fighting to not take another step towards him. "Please don't make me..."

"How did you feel about me? How do you feel about me?"

"Lip, please," I whispered, hating that we were back to this. "You know it's wrong. Please, don't make me say this..."

"Scar, please," Lip said, stepping forward then, his fingers wrapping themselves around my arms and holding me there, and I shuddered at having him so close to me.

 _This is wrong...wrong, wrong, wrong_ , my mind shouted at me. _What are you doing?! Get him off you right now_!

"Just tell me," Lip whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "Please..."

I felt my mouth open then. "Don't," I whispered.

"Scar?"

"Please," I whispered, my eyes welling with tears. "Don't."

"It's not the same for us," Lip whispered. "It's not like we were in diapers together or something like that. There must be an exception for every rule, isn't there?"

"Lip, are you kidding me right now?!" I hissed at him. "I'm your—"

Lip looked as if he'd completely lost his resolve for a moment then, as he leaned down and kissed me, holding me against him. And, for a moment, I lost mine, too—while I didn't wrap my arms around him, I didn't push him away either. I felt the tears falling from my eyes then, as everything that kissed represented was completely wrong. I shoved him away from me then, and smacked him full across the face.

"I fucking love you, okay?!" I said, my teeth gritted as I looked up at him then, my hand tense from the blow to his face. "You happy now?!"

Lip shook his head, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes—he didn't want me to see him cry, and I could accept that. "No," he replied. "I'm never going to be okay, Scar, because I fucking love you, too."

I put my head into my hands. "We can't do this again, Lip," I whispered. "This, right here, right now—this was a goodbye to all of that," I tell him, looking up and making an effort to compose myself and failing miserably. "It shouldn't matter how we think or how we feel. In the eyes of the law, it's wrong, and we could go to jail for even acting this way. We can't slip up again, because it could ruin everything."

"What's there to ruin?" he asked.

"Hello! Ian fucking knows!" I replied.

"Ian can keep his mouth shut..."

"Stop," I whispered, holding up my hand. "Just stop right there. I've told you once, I've told you several times how wrong it is," I tell him. "I don't want to say it again; I can't say it again. We just need to make up our minds to forget..."

Lip looks unsure then. "But... What if I don't want to forget?"

"Try," I reply. "I've already started trying."

Lip looks conflicted then. "Did you... Have you... Did you hook up with someone when you escaped to Mexico?"

I looked away.

"Oh, my god," Lip said, his voice shaking as he finally released his hold upon me. "Oh, my god, Scarlett, what did you do?"

I lowered my eyes. "I don't think you should be asking me that question," I whispered, trying to keep my voice devoid of all emotion.

"Scarlett, please. Tell me."

I felt myself stiffening then; I didn't want to hurt Lip, but I also needed to dissuade him from me at all costs. If it hadn't worked when I told him I was his sister—his full sister—then maybe my other escapades would do the trick. "You know him, actually."

"Scarlett, please," he said, and I stupidly turned to look at him. "Please, not him. Please tell me it was anyone but him."

"Who are you talking about?" I demanded impatiently.

"Mickey," Lip replied. "Did you fuck Mickey Milkovich?"

"It shouldn't matter who I've fucked, Lip—or how many!" I said wildly, wanting this conversation to be over once and for all.

Lip stumbled backwards then. "Scarlett?" he asked.

"What?"

"What have you been doing?"

"Trying to move the fuck on from my fucking brother!" I cried out then, my voice breaking as I said those words. "Because this is wrong, so, so wrong..."

"Scar..."

"No," I said, pulling away from his hands, which sought to comfort me, or something else, something far worse, which could land us both in the slammer for many reasons. "Don't do this to me, Lip. Not again."

"Who is it?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Who's the other guy? Besides fucking Mickey, who else have you been fucking?"

"That's none of your fucking business!" I cried out.

"I'm not asking as your ex-boyfriend," he said, and I felt as if I would vomit from the implications of that title. "I'm asking as your brother."

I rolled my eyes, moving to go inside the house, to escape this madness. "You don't know him, so it doesn't matter."

Lip moved in front of me then, catching me by the arms, and I hated myself for gasping when he touched me. "It matters to me, Scar."

I felt my resolve go down for a moment when he called me by that pet name, but I couldn't allow myself to be swayed—not again. "Well, it shouldn't."

"It does," Lip insisted. "Please. Just tell me."

I managed to pull myself out of his hold on me—physically, if not emotionally. I just stared at him for a moment, wanting so much to tell him what was on my mind, but knowing that, the moment I did, it would be all over. "You don't need to know..."

"But I _want_ to know," Lip said quietly.

"Please..." I whispered. "Don't ask me."

Lip stared at me then, wanting to say something, and yet he held himself back for a moment, not at all sure what the rules were. "Scar..."

"What?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"What are you thinking?"

I broke the gaze he held on me, examining my nails. "Nothing."

"Scar, you're always thinking. What are your thoughts?"

I shook my head. "You really don't want—"

Lip grabbed my arms again, squeezing them hard, and I felt a full-body reaction this time, and I very nearly melted too his touch, and would have, if I hadn't been careful. "I just want the truth from you now, Scar. Just...please. Tell me the truth."

"You want the truth?" I demanded then, using all my strength to shove Lip off me. "Okay, I'll tell you the truth. It's my boss's son," I replied, and I could see that the barb stung. "And there's nothing between us—just mindless fucking. I'm not looking to fall in love now, Lip—I just want to fuck to forget," I reply, and move to go inside then.

Lip raises his arm for a moment, preventing me from going. "What were you afraid of, Scar?" he asked, and I sighed then, knowing that I had to come clean.

I turn around and look at him for a moment, hating myself for allowing the tears to come again as I fought with myself to remain calm. "I was afraid of hurting you," I reply, my voice breaking as I worked hard to compose myself once again before heading back into the lion's den.


	11. Fragments

Chapter Eleven: Fragments

I went back inside, Lip at my heels, and felt immediate relief when Ian shoved Lip to another room of the house. I heard them yelling at each other, immediately feeling uncomfortable with the dynamic I'd destroyed, and saw Fiona just staring at me from across the room. Instinctively, I crossed the room towards her, and she put her arm around my shoulders and led me outside to the front porch. I thought she was literally showing me the door, but she came outside with me and shut the door of the house, arms crossed.

"Talk," she said.

I didn't know if it was the fact that she sounded so authoritative in that moment, or if I knew something she didn't, but I needed someone else to know. "You knew that Ian was gay, didn't you?" I asked.

Fiona nodded. "Yeah. I told him I knew when he came out."

I nodded back at her, feeling uneasy. "Well, you know what I'm going to say, right?" I asked, looking up at her. "I mean, it's not something that I could hide for long..."

"I just figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"That I'm your sister?" I asked, the words falling from my lips, and the pressure in my shoulders that had been building the moment I read the various words on my birth certificate beginning to diminish somewhat.

Fiona nodded. "Yes. I know."

I leaned up against the side of the house. "When?" I asked.

She sighed. "When Lip first introduced you to me in the park," she replied. "You just bore such a striking resemblance to Ian, I initially believed it was uncanny. But the more I got to know you, I just saw these similarities to all of us—even Frank."

"Similarities?" I asked.

"Well, yours and Ian's behavior is pretty similar," she replied. "And you're smart like Debbie and like Lip. You get stubborn and impatient, like me. You're not afraid to get physical or freaky—that's Carl."

"And Liam?" I asked.

"You're quiet, most of the time," Fiona said with a smile. "That's all of us."

I sighed. "Well, there's one thing..."

"What?" Fiona asked.

"I'm Ian's twin, but only his half-sister," I replied, and Fiona looked at me in confusion. "I'm Frank and Monica's child."

"How is that even...?"

"I must have been conceived sometime in the same week as Ian," I replied, shrugging. "It's been known to happen."

Fiona looked floored at the sudden declaration, despite the notion that she had known, or at least, had suspected it, for a while. "So, that's why you're here tonight?" she asked. "To tell the family about it?"

I nodded. "Well, to tell the people who don't know already about it..."

Fiona gave a slight nod at that. "I'm not the first person to know for sure, am I? That you're our sister, I mean?"

I sighed, my shoulders slacking. "Fi, I'm sorry. I love you, but, let's face it, I didn't meet you first—I met Lip first."

"Lip knows?" she asked, looking saddened for our brother.

I nodded at her. "Yes. He was the second person to find out."

"Ian," Fiona said quietly. "He was the first?"

I sighed, unmoving from my position, still slouched against the side of the house. "Yeah. He confronted me outside of court one day. It was a really bad day, too—Nicholas was being a real asshole and I so didn't need him coming down there and confronting me like that, but he wanted answers, just like I did when I ran..."

"So, you did run?" Fiona asks, and I lock my eyes to hers. "I thought you might have, or just locked yourself into your apartment. But Lip, Ian, and I went over there a handful of times during the hours you were gone, each time hoping to find your car in the lot. We were really worried about you, Scar..."

I shake my head. "Yeah, I may have crossed the border..."

"What the hell?!" Fiona demanded, swiping me on my arm.

"Fiona!" I cried out, attempting and failing to doge the blows. "Stop it!"

"I reserve the right to do that!" she said, her voice shaking slightly as our eyes locked, and she looked genuinely concerned for me. "I missed out on twenty years of raising you, so you're damn right I'm going to make up for it now!"

"Fiona!"

"No, I'm your fucking sister, Scarlett!" she said, and then she hesitated for a moment, lowering her arms as she stared at me then. "Scarlett..."

"What?"

"Is that even...?"

"My real name?"

"Yeah."

I shook my head at her; even though I'd whispered the name to myself countless times, and said it to Ian, it felt different, somehow, saying it to Fiona. "No, it's not my real name," I replied, and Fiona stood there staring for a moment.

"What's your real name?" she asked.

I bit down hard on my lower lip. "It'll be my real name again soon," I said. "I'm taking it back, if it's cool with you."

Fiona laughed. "Just tell me what your fucking name is."

"Murphy," I replied, and Fiona looked intrigued at the name. "My real name—or, I guess you could say birth name—is Murphy Margaret Gallagher."

"Margaret," she whispered.

"Does that mean something?" I asked.

She nodded. "Margaret—Maggie—was Frank's mother," she replied.

"Was?"

"Yeah, we lost her a while back," Fiona replied, slouching on the other side of the front door. "I guess I'm sorry you didn't get to meet her..."

I nodded. "How do you think Frank will react?" I wanted to know.

Fiona scoffed at that. "Who gives a fuck how he'll react?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He's our father. I guess having a father is something I never really figured out how to have. With Martin, him walking out when I was five... I don't know. Maybe it's good not to have a father. I could've had you, Fi, and I could've helped, but I wasn't here, and I'm so sorry I couldn't be..."

Fiona immediately straightened up and yanked me into her arms without hesitation. "I don't give a fuck about the past, Scarlett," she said, using my full name, and it felt odd, somehow. "You're my fucking sister, and we're not letting you go again."

I gripped Fiona tightly, tempted to hold her to that. "I'm so glad you're taking this well," I replied, feeling the hot tears in my eyes again. "I don't know what I would've done if, somehow, you were against it..."

Fiona pulled back then, looking at me. "I want you to listen to me, Scarlett, and listen to me good, do you hear me?"

I nodded. "I do."

"I want you to know that you are one of us, no matter what anyone says," she said, her arms positioned firmly on my shoulders. "A piece of paper—I don't even need to see it—won't prove to me what I already know. And what I know is that you're my fucking sister, and, due to some pretty fucked up circumstances beyond our control, you were taken away from us and, now that we've found you, and you've found us, you're a fucking Gallagher, and you're a fucking Gallagher for life."

I laughed aloud then. "I feel like a fucking Gallagher," I replied. "Davies just sounded so fake to me, and the Gallagher's are real—we're real, Fi."

Fiona yanked me back into her arms. "You're damn right we're real, Scar," she said, holding me for a moment before pulling back again. "Come on. Let's tell everyone else." She put her arm around my shoulders again, leading me back inside and as we stepped over the threshold, I was relieved that I didn't hear Ian and Lip fighting anymore.

As we stepped into the living room, Debbie was sitting on the couch, Franny on her knees, and Carl and Liam on either side of her. Ian had returned to his cooking post in the kitchen, and Lip was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a beer. I was quick to notice that his cheek was slightly swollen from where I'd hit him, and he was also sporting a red mark on his arm, where I assumed Ian had grabbed him to drag him into the next room. Averting my eyes, I watched as Fiona moved to squeeze herself on the couch, nodding at me in an encouraging manner as I went towards my purse. I caught Ian's eye, and he raised his eyebrows in Fiona's direction, and I nodded at him, and he seemed to understand.

I dipped into my purse then, taking out the paperwork, and caught a glimpse of Lip deliberately looking away from me. It was likely hard for him, I decided then as I approached where Debbie, Carl, and Liam were all on the couch. Fiona reached out and took Franny from Debbie as I came forward, and perched on the arm of the piece of furniture, and they all turned towards me.

"Debbie, do you want to have a look at this?" I asked, since she was the oldest out of the bunch and clearly would have an opinion on the matter.

"Sure," Debbie replied, taking the file folder from me and opening it, taking a good look at my birth certificate, still on top. "Murphy Margaret Gallagher," she said, reading the name on top, which quickly piqued the interest of Carl and Liam. "Did you come across this during a case of yours?" she asked.

I sighed. "No," I replied. "I came across it when a judge intervened on my behalf when he heard I wanted to trace my biological family."

Carl looked up at me. "So, how'd you get this?" he asked.

I turned to look at Carl. "Because it's mine," I replied, not trying to sugar-coat anything. "That's my original birth certificate, which was buried after my adoption."

"Biological father—Frank Gallagher," Debbie continued, fully absorbed in the paperwork. "And biological mother—Monica Gallagher... 1996," she whispered, and her eyes darted to mine. "So, you're our sister, but Ian's twin?"

"I'm all of your sister," I replied, hating myself for lying to her before. "But Ian's only my half-sibling, because of...well, you know."

"But, you're twins," Liam said, catching on quickly. "How can you be twins but only half-siblings?" he wanted to know.

I smiled, cupping his cheek. "Well, when a couple who loves each other very much... Well, long story short," I said, not wanting to have _that_ conversation with Liam at all. "Sometimes when two people...hug," I said, wanting to choose my words carefully, "they can hug more than one person at once. And then the mommy gets pregnant by two different people hugging her, but close enough together that the babies come at the same time."

"Oh," Liam replied, satisfied. "So, I'm your brother now?"

I smiled at him. "I was always your sister," I replied.

"Then, why didn't you live in the house with us?"

"That's a good question," Lip muttered from his place at the table, and Ian and I shot him looks at the same time.

"Because," I said, turning back around to face Liam, "Monica had me put up for adoption, which means I was raised with another family, far away from here."

"But why?" Liam asked. "We're family."

"And I'm here now," I replied, lifting him up and pulling him onto my lap without hesitation, and he settled quickly. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Liam looked satisfied with that. "Good," he replied. "I don't want you to go."

"So, do you want us to call you 'Scarlett' or 'Murphy'?" Carl asked.

I laughed. "Well, funny you should mention that," I replied. "I've actually got the documentation to begin my name change. If that's not objectionable to any of you..."

"I vote yes," Fiona replied.

"Yes," Debbie said.

"Yes!" Liam cried, clapping his hands.

"Hell yeah!" Carl said.

"Yes," Ian said from the kitchen, and I turned to look at him. "You're my twin, and no matter what anyone says, you're not just my half-sister. You are my sister—period. End of story. I want you to be a Gallagher, for real."

I turned and looked at Lip, who was nose-deep in his beer already, and I wondered how many he'd already put away. "Lip?" I asked tentatively. "Do you want to vote?"

He sighed. "I don't give a fuck," he replied, and Debbie and I automatically covered Franny's and Liam's ears respectively. "Do whatever you want."

It wasn't the answer I wanted, but I knew that Lip was hurting right now, so I decided to leave him alone for the time being. "Okay," I said, turning back to the rest of my siblings. "I'll fill out the paperwork and gets the funds worked out this weekend, and send it into the proper authorities on Monday. Okay?"

"Great!" Ian said. "Meanwhile, dinner's ready."

"Thank god!" Carl said, getting to his feet. "I'm starving!"

We all managed to squeeze around that tiny table, and there was a flurry of conversation that followed as we organized the plates, forks and knives, and passed around the dishes filled with pasta, meatballs, and garlic bread. I remembered, growing up, how dinners were filled with frequent lapses of silence, and how the only conversation would be from Dr. Normal directed to my mother, or the boys. Only on rare occasions—like discussing my education and career path—was I invited to speak. It didn't matter now; none of it mattered, for I'd finally found my family, and even though I'd never been a complete part of it up until now, it was as if I'd been there forever, and I never wanted to leave.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Ian asked.

I'd stayed behind to help him put Liam to bed and wash up. The first task didn't even need to be done, because Liam wanted to hear Carl's stories about military school, which left the cleaning up of the kitchen to Ian and me. I didn't mind; these tasks were usually so mundane, but, just standing in the kitchen with my twin brother scrubbing and drying pots was one of the most fun nights of my entire life.

"I did," I replied, playfully bumping Ian with my arm. "You were right. I should've done this immediately. Just wish my damned anxiety didn't get in the way..."

"You think it'll get better? Now that we're all on the same page?"

"Everyone except Frank," I muttered. "Fiona mentioned what went down between him and Sammi before he told her." I shuddered. "Guess I'm not as fucked up as I thought, although Lip and I were further in than that, but still..."

Ian sighed. "Maybe when Frank's been sober for more than two minutes," he replied.

I nodded. "You'll let me know," I say, flashing him a smile. I reach into the sink and grab another massive plate, picking up the scrubbing implements and continuing with the washing. "I don't know. It's all very new to me..."

"Washing dishes?" Ian asked. "Did you have a dishwasher in the house, or a maid?"

"Housekeeper," I replied, and Ian gave me a look. "No, I'm not kidding. Once Dr. Normal had my I.Q. tested, he knew that my education was a serious business. Had me devote my entire free time to extracurricular activities that would benefit my chances of getting into a top university and excellent law firm."

"You got your I.Q. tested?"

"Dr. Normal arranged it, but I was tested, yeah."

"How'd you do?"

I smirked. "I barely glanced at the paper. I think Dr. Normal was disappointed that I didn't get a higher score, but I think I did pretty well for actively not making an effort..."

"Come on," Ian said, a laugh at the back of his voice. "What was the number?"

"142," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "140 is considered a genius, so if I got a 142 without even trying, imagine what could happen if I actually did," I said, purposefully sounding condescending.

"What's with the voice?"

"That's what Dr. Normal said to my mother when the results came back," I replied, scrubbing the plate harder to drive out the sound of his stupid voice in my ear. "The bastard thought I should be fucking grateful..."

"Scar!" Ian cried out, prying the plate from my hands before I could manage to break it. "Sit down," he said, waiting for me to wash my hands before I did so.

"I want to help—"

"No," Ian said firmly. "I can finish these up. You sit down and rest."

I moved slowly over to the kitchen table, perching on the edge of the seat, barely watching Ian doing the rest of the dishes. "I really did want to help," I whispered.

Ian looked over his shoulder at me for a moment. "It's okay," he assured me. He picked up a final pot before cleaning it, setting it on the counter to dry before washing his hands and striding over to the table. He sat across from me, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one up. "Just be calm, Scar. It's okay."

"Murphy..."

"What?" he asked.

I looked up at him, reaching out and taking the cigarette away from him, relieved when he didn't protest that time. "Might as well get used to it," I tell him. "Murph sounds way more like me, anyhow. I emailed Allie—one of my bosses—at work, and told her I was making the change. It was so nice of her to offer to make the work arrangements for me..."

"You always sound agitated whenever you talk about Dr. Normal," Ian said quietly after a moment, as I handed the cigarette back to him. "I can't... Well, I'm wondering why. Did he do something to hurt you?"

I scoff, throwing myself back in the chair. "Oh, I don't know. Other than brainwashing my mother against me..." I shrugged. "Convincing her that I was inferior, based on me being adopted, I don't fucking know..." I hesitated for a moment, waiting for Ian to hand the cigarette back to me. "It was all going to be fucked, one way or another, once Martin left," I replied. "He went to conquer his dream, breaking my mom's heart, and leaving her stuck with a child she thought she wanted..."

"You don't think she wanted you?"

"I think she wanted the idea of me," I reply, shaking my head, taking a mighty puff upon the cigarette as I thought it over. "Husband, fucking picket fence, two-point-five kids... She liked the idea, but once she became a single mother of a girl..."

"What?" Ian asked.

I handed the cigarette back to him. "Once Martin left, there was no hope for the adoption to keep succeeding. Martin chose the big time, and Tina chose to upgrade—in her view—to a more practical husband, and get some real kids."

"And Dr. Normal?"

I scoffed at that. "He's a son of a bitch."

"Why?"

I sighed, putting my head in my hands. "You remember Jessica?" I asked. "The closest thing I had to a friend?"

"Yeah," Ian replied.

I looked up at him. "It wasn't like that... I mean, she was a friend, of course, but she wasn't...just a friend," I replied.

Ian raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Once, during one of the family vacations, I invited Jessica over," I replied. "It was in the middle of summer, and my debate finals were pushed forward a week. I had some time to kill, so we went to the theater in the house to watch some chick flicks..."

"What happened?" Ian asked.

"Jess told me she was gay," I replied. "I told her it didn't matter to me, and then she kissed me. I hadn't kissed anyone before, and you know when it's something new and you just want to dive on in?"

"Sure."

"Well, I did," I replied. "It was only with Jess, though. I mean, I've never thought about any other girls that way, and I'd never even thought about it until it was presented to me..."

"Did you two...?"

I nodded. "Yeah. A few times. But never...you know," I said, showing him with my hands, and he laughed. "We were sixteen, and I didn't want her to, but she wanted me to, you know? So I guess I was the aggressor in that department—I don't know..."

"How does Dr. Normal come into play?" Ian asked.

"He had security cameras in the house," I replied. "He asked about us kissing, because that's all we did that day. I said we were practicing, and he didn't care. Well, at least I thought he didn't care, until..."

"What?"

I sighed. "I may have taken her to my room, and he walked in when I was...you know," I replied, flushing to my ears.

Ian leaned forward. "You're kidding."

I shook my head. "No. I was seventeen—I was in college already, but Jess was a senior in high school at the time. Dr. Normal dragged Jessica out of the house, throwing her out with her clothes..."

Ian gripped the edge of the table, the cigarette apparently forgotten. "What the hell did he do to you?" he demanded, through his teeth.

I sighed, lowering my eyes as the tears fell. "He took off his belt and...beat me with it...with the buckle...when I was naked..."

"Jesus Christ!"

I shook my head. "Even after that, I risked seeing Jess. I don't think I was in love with her, but I do know that I felt love from her, and since I wasn't getting that at home, I wanted it from someone, anyone..."

"Murph?"

I raised my eyes, knowing I'd have to get used to the name. "Yeah?"

He handed over the cigarette to me. "It wasn't your fault."

I lowered my eyes, inhaling on the cigarette and shaking my head. "It's odd, really. Despite everything he put me through..."

"What?"

I leaned forward then, feeling anxious all over again as the cigarette created a plume of silver smoke in the air from its end. "Lip...spanked me once and I..."

"Liked it?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I don't think that's so unusual, but I'm not a doctor."

I shrugged. "I should know more, but I don't. I tended to stay more on the outside looking in when it came to psychology. My professors always wanted me to go in deeper, but I was afraid of the feelings that would crop up..."

"We don't have to talk about it anymore, Murph."

I nodded, relieved. "Thanks," I replied, puffing on the cigarette one more time before handing it back to Ian. "I'd like not to."

"How do you like your apartment?"

I laughed. "Great segue," I said. "Um, I guess it's okay... Why?"

"No, it's just that you told me your landlord was kind of a douchebag."

I blinked. "Yeah, I did say that," I replied.

"Well, we've got an extra room here," Ian replied. "I don't know, I mean, if you wanted to come and live with us..."

I got up then and threw my arms around him. "You're amazing!" I cried. "Yes, please. And I'd love to help any way I can. I'm sure that I'd be able to...you know, help," I said, pulling back and smiling at him.

Ian nodded. "Yeah, you can help," he said with a smirk. "And hey, why don't we pack up your shit tomorrow and just bring it over this weekend?"

"Man, my landlord is going to throw a shit fit," I said, snagging the cigarette back. "But I could give a fuck what's up his ass."

"Great," Ian said. "I'll come over tomorrow and help you pack."

I handed the cigarette back to him. "Deal," I replied.

. . .

The weekend flew by, and Ian and I managed to pack up my entire apartment in just one day, and I also managed to get the paperwork done and all turned in. I returned my apartment key to my landlord on Sunday, and although he was a douchebag, he did seem to be relieved to be rid of me once and for all. On Monday, we were all up around the same time, running around to get ready for the day ahead.

"Want me to drop Liam off?" I asked Ian.

"You have time?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. I have that doctor's appointment, but not until eleven."

"I thought that the chicken was undercooked the other night..."

I fixed Ian with a look. "It was not undercooked—maybe just expired," I said, rolling my eyes at him as I looked down at Liam, eating some toast. "Hey, little man," I said, crouching beside his chair and smiling at him. "Want me to drive you to school?"

Liam grinned. "Yeah!" he cried.

"I'll write a note—they can get pretty strict over there," Ian replied.

"Thanks," I said, flashing him a smile as I gathered my papers into my briefcase. "So glad I don't have to deal with the d-bag anymore," I said, whispering the offending word. "He was beginning to get on my nerves."

Ian smirked, signing the note hand handing it back to me with a prompt flourish. "Well, glad I could help."

I walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. "You always help," I told him with a smile before turning to Liam. "Okay, little man—we'd better hurry if you want to get to school on time. Do you have everything?"

Once I got Liam dropped off at school, I hurried to the office to work for two hours before my appointment with Dr. Fairfax. I'd been feeling queasy all weekend, and I was hoping it wasn't the flu, because sentencing was coming up in the Johnny Sanders case, and it all hinged on Nicholas's and my interview with Jasmine Jones. Rachel gave me my messages as per usual, and I headed directly to my office, relieved that I didn't see Nicholas, for now was not the time for a booty call.

I went through all my messages, calling back the important ones and moving the unimportant ones to the bottom of the pile. Rolling my shoulders, I attempted to plow through my tasks that morning, but the throbbing in my head was making it more difficult to do so. Rolling my eyes, when it got to be ten-thirty, I gave up and left the office early, even though the doctor's office was only five minutes away. I was tempted to walk, but I was so physically exhausted that I decided to take my car.

When I arrived, I filled out the mandatory paperwork, and did my best to be nice to the nurse when she arrived to collect me. I explained my symptoms, and the nurse looked me over, a skeptical look in her eyes. I really didn't need that right now, especially after it being such a hectic last couple of days, that I fixed her with a look.

"What?" I demanded through my teeth.

"Have you been having sex, Miss Davies?" she asked.

"Gallagher," I whispered.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"My name is Murphy Gallagher," I said, showing her my birth certificate and the temporary document I had, informing anyone who asked that I was just beginning the process of a permanent name change. "Please. Call me Miss Gallagher."

"O-okay fine, Miss Gallagher," the nurse said, touching her weave for a moment before looking down at the notes I'd written on my symptoms. "Now, I'll ask you again. Have you been having sex, Miss Gallagher?"

I sighed. "Yes," I replied.

"How many partners?"

I gritted my teeth. "Three," I replied.

"Were any times unprotected?"

I cleared my throat. "The first two times...may have been..."

"With different partners?"

"The fuck does it matter?!" I burst out. "It should say in my fucking paperwork that I can't get pregnant so why am I suddenly on trial here?!"

The nurse looked shocked for a moment before writing something down. "Yeah, I'm going to order some blood work done, see what we can do for you," she said, finishing her thought process before leaving the room.

"Oh, for the love of..." I muttered to myself.

I was summoned to the on-site lab within fifteen minutes, where they took six vials of my blood and I tried not to throw up on any of the technicians. I smiled fakely at all of them, just wanting answers as I tapped my feet impatiently. I was then returned to the waiting room, where I was told that Dr. Fairfax had put a rush on my blood order—as I was, apparently, considered a high-profile client—and would see me in her office shortly.

I pulled out my phone to pass the time, texting Ian about the blood work, and letting him know that I would tell him if I knew anything as soon as I heard anything. Ian texted me back, letting me know he appreciated me keeping in touch, and would see me at home later. I fumbled with it for a few moments to distract myself, but eventually putting it away, the task of distraction having failed. I'd been so desperate for answers over the past month, I'd constantly felt like I was standing at a crossroads, and now, after all this time, here I was again.

I was called back to Dr. Fairfax's office within the hour, and felt relieved as I crossed the threshold and into the space. I waited until I was given permission to sit down and stood there for a moment, seeing the folder with my name on it in front of her. I was pleased that she'd gotten the note, as there was a white sticker with MURPHY GALLAGHER written on it, blotting out my adopted name.

"Well, Murphy," Dr. Fairfax said. "Why don't you sit?"

I sat down then, perching on the edge of my seat, hands folded in my lap as I anxiously sat there waiting for her to talk. When she didn't, I thought I might say something, anything to ease the awkward silence between us. "Hey, Dr. Fairfax. Everything okay?"

"Well, I'm sure it will be, eventually," Dr. Fairfax said, opening the folder.

"What?" I asked, leaning forward, but couldn't make anything out other than medical terms I'd never heard of—plus, it was all upside-down to me.

"Murphy, did you know you were pregnant?" Dr. Fairfax asked, looking up at me then, her eyes slightly annoyed, as if I'd lied to her about being unable to have children.

I sat there for a moment, wondering how I was going to get out of this mess. There were only two possibilities of a father, that much I knew, and either one was a death sentence for my unborn child. As I mulled it over then, I methodically found myself lowering my eyes and placing my hand upon my belly—not even swollen yet—and felt tears forming in my eyes for the millionth time that week.

"Murphy?" Dr. Fairfax said, her voice nearly a bark.

I looked up at her then, shaking my head. "Pregnant?" I whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED


	12. An Incomplete Puzzle

Chapter Twelve: An Incomplete Puzzle

"That's impossible," I tell Dr. Fairfax as soon as my senses have returned to me, and I find that I am shaking my head at her. "Totally impossible. I cannot be pregnant."

Dr. Fairfax pursed her lips. "If this was a urine test, Murphy, then there would be room for error but, as I'm sure you know, blood doesn't lie."

I sighed, hating that she was right. "Shit," I whispered to myself, putting my head into my hands and feeling absolutely terrible. "This _cannot_ be happening right now..."

"Do you have any idea who the father is?"

I pulled my face up from my hands. "I have an idea..."

"Okay," she said.

"...between two different guys," I replied.

"So, you really don't have any idea?" she said impatiently.

I sighed. "I'm telling you the truth here. It could be one of two guys, of that I'm positive. The third guy I've been with...he always used a condom and was...meticulous."

Dr. Fairfax sighed. "Fine. What's your relationship to these men?"

I rolled my eyes. "One was that...boyfriend...I told you about," I replied. "The other guy was a one-night stand."

"Are you still with the boyfriend?"

I shook my head. "No. Like you said, blood doesn't lie..."

"Murphy?"

I rolled my shoulders. "Turned out he was my brother."

Dr. Fairfax looked disturbed. "And the other boy?"

"The ex-boyfriend of my twin half-brother," I replied. "I went down to Mexico after I got the news of who my biological family was and went to a tequila bar. Once there, I proceeded to get so drunk that I had to pray to the fucking porcelain gods. After that, I drove back to the border to make sure I got back to work on time for Monday."

"But you're sure you had sex with this boy?"

I sighed. "Fragments of the night come to mind. We did...have sex," I replied. "But we were both in mourning at the time... He for my brother, me for...my brother..."

"No wonder you're a Gallagher," Dr. Fairfax muttered, writing something down on what looked like prescription pad.

"Excuse me?!" I demanded.

"This is good for two weeks," she said, ripping off the piece of paper and handing it over to me quickly, almost as if she didn't want to touch me. "If it turns out your unborn child isn't your brother's baby, and you don't wish to seek a termination, this is for prenatal vitamins. Now," she went on, totally disregarding my attempts to speak, "I have many more appointments today—it was a generous miracle that we were able to squeeze you in at all. Run along now, Miss Gallagher," she said, sneering my surname.

I felt as if I'd been stabbed in the chest as I clutched the piece of paper to my heart and got out of there, stumbling slightly as I went. I felt numb then, knowing what she meant—if, for some reason, this baby was Lip's, I would have to get an abortion. I knew why, of course—modern medicine made it possible to know that your child could be majorly disabled if caused by an incestuous relationship. Pushing the thought from my mind, I managed to make my way to the waiting room, and from there, to the hospital parking garage and into my car.

I set my purse down on the passenger seat, shaking slightly as I gripped the steering wheel in front of me, feeling the urge to run again. I felt a sob escape my throat then as I leaned down onto my steering wheel, the sound quickly morphing into a wail as I put my free hand onto my stomach. "Fuck," I whispered then, the tears blinding my vision so much that I had to shut my eyes for the impact. "Why?" I whispered, lowering my face to my stomach and, when I could see again, opened my eyes. "Why does something so precious have to be taken away from me, something I didn't know I would ever want?"

I felt my voice breaking then, and I dashed the tears from my eyes then as I started up my car and drove out of there. Blindly, I drove to the station across town, Ian's workplace, knowing that, in that moment, I needed my brother and my best friend. Pulling up outside, I parked in the adjacent lot and dashed inside, gripping my purse and doing my best not to cry. I went up to the front desk then, waiting for someone to come and help me.

"Do you have an emergency?" a heavyset woman asked, stepping forward.

"I... I guess so," I replied, shaking my head. "I'm looking for my brother. Is he here?"

"That depends," the woman replied, crossing her arms. "Who's your brother?"

"Ian Gallagher," I replied.

The woman looked me over. "You don't look like Fiona or Debbie."

I rolled my eyes and pulled out the temporary documentation again. "I'm Ian's twin sister—I was adopted at birth and so my name now is Scarlett Davies, but I'm in the process of changing it back to Murphy Gallagher. Now, there's a family emergency," I said, my voice filled with desperation. "May I please see my brother?"

The woman sighed, reaching beneath the counter and withdrawing a visitor pass. "Be quick about it," she said, nodding to an employee door in the back.

Feeling relieved, I dashed through the lobby area and burst into the employee door, much to the surprise of people in there. I looked around, frantic, until I saw Ian, who immediately came towards me and looked concerned.

"Ian, I'm sorry, I needed to see you..."

"Everything okay here?" asked one of Ian's co-workers.

"Yeah, sorry. This is my sister."

"Hi, there," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Is there some place we can talk for a few minutes, Ian? It's important...about my appointment..."

Immediately, Ian excused himself, putting an arm around me and leading me outside to the back of the building, shutting the door behind him. "What did the doctor say?"

I sighed. "Something is different about me, Ian..."

"We can figure it out, Murph. Promise. We'll do whatever we can to make sure this goes smoothly and goes away—"

"Ian," I said, cutting across him. "It's not something that goes away...for nine months, if I decide to keep things the way they are," I said quietly.

"Nine months...? Murph," Ian said, looking shocked. "Are you...?"

"Pregnant? Yeah," I replied. "According to Dr. Fairfax, who, by the way, apparently has a beef with us Gallagher's," I said, shaking my head. "Fucking bitch tried to make it seem like a was a fucking whore..."

"Wait, Murph," Ian said, pulling me back around so that I was facing him. "Are you really pregnant, or is this a joke?"

I sighed. "It's not a joke," I whispered. "And I'd already be at a fucking clinic right now waiting in line if it wasn't for the obvious..."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed. "If I knew for sure that Lip was the father, I'd already be at the abortion clinic," I told him, my voice barely above a whisper.

"But you're not sure?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm not sure. But I can tell you that it's not Nicholas's baby. Too soon to tell for that, and he always used a condom, so..."

Ian's dark gaze grew even darker then as he fully absorbed what I was saying. "Murph, you told me you weren't sure of what happened in Mexico..."

"It comes in flashes," I told him quietly.

"Murph..."

I sighed, tears forming in my eyes again. "This wasn't supposed to happen," I said desperately to him, my voice shaking. "You know I wouldn't ever want to hurt you, but he and I were hurting too and there was the tequila..."

"Shit," Ian replied, walking a few steps away from me. He walked to the edge of the buildings' property then, and just screamed for a few seconds before turning back to look at me. "It could be Mickey's baby?" he demanded.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Shit," Ian said again.

"And you know how much I've wanted children," I said. "You've seen me with Franny, and I've told you more than once how much I wanted this link to me—"

"Well, I didn't need another fucking link to Mickey Milkovich in my life, Murph, but you've pretty much screwed the pooch on that one!" Ian screamed back, dragging his hands through his hair. "I mean, shit, next thing I know you'll be telling me that if it's Mickey's baby, you're not going to get an abortion!"

I just stared at him then, feeling the tears creating lines down my cheeks. I couldn't say anything, and yet the answer was written all over my face, and lurked just beneath the surface of my eyes. I couldn't say it, although it was all there.

"Oh, god," Ian said, seeing my expression and turning away. "God dammit..."

I sighed then, lowering my eyes. "If you can't accept that, Ian—which I can understand, really, I do understand—then I'll leave."

Ian's head snapped to look at me. "What?"

I looked back up at him. "I'll move out," I replied, thinking that it was silly, as I'd barely been living with him for three days, and now this mess had happened. "I'll go find another apartment or something. I won't contact any members of the family—hell, I'll even stop the process of my fucking name change. I won't do anything but raise my baby by myself—"

Ian cuts me off then by running to me then, pulling me against him so tightly that I fear not even the jaws of life could separate us. "Dammit, Murph," he said into my hair. "You're not going anywhere; do you understand me?"

"Ian—"

"No," he said, his voice becoming unhinged. "A part of me always felt like it was missing and goddammit, I'm not going to lose it again," he said, pulling back and looking down at me. "You are my fucking twin, and you're not leaving me again."

"But—"

"No buts," he said firmly. "If it's Lip's baby, you'll get an abortion, and I'll support you. If it's Mickey's baby, you get an abortion, you put it up for adoption, or you can keep it. It's your choice, Murph."

I sighed. "If it's Mickey's baby, Ian, then I want to keep it," I whispered.

Ian nodded. "I know," he replied.

"Are you okay with that?"

He sighed. "I loved Yevgeny," he replied. "Who's to say I can't love another one of Mickey Milkovich's children?"

. . .

Feeling relieved about Ian's support, I got back into my car a short time later and found my phone in my purse. I fumbled with it for a moment before I went to my contacts, finding Lip's number and pressing the call icon. I placed the phone next to my ear, listening to the rings and hoping that he would take the call.

"What do you want, Murph?" he asked, and I was surprised that he was actually using my new name so quickly.

"Lip, I'm sorry—I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now," I said, hoping I didn't sound so hopeless. "But something came up and I need to speak with you right away. Can we meet for coffee, please? It's important."

Lip sighed. "You are the last person I want to talk to right now, Murph," he replied, regret peppering his tone. "But, like it or not, you're my sister—families talk. Meet me at the house in twenty minutes, okay?"

"No problem," I replied, hanging up. I texted Rachel, letting her know that I would be slightly delayed in coming back from lunch, but that it had to do with my doctor's appointment. As I drove, Rachel replied, letting me know that she had informed Allie and that she had been very understanding about it. I also reminded Rachel that, for alternating days, I would be picking up Liam from school, and Rachel told me she remembered.

I arrived back at the house within fifteen minutes, getting out of the car and locking up before crossing to the gate. I walked through the yard, hearing a groan from one of the open windows as I went up the stairs and onto the porch. Keys gripped in my hand, I let myself inside, seeing that the glass was smashed on the back door, and who I assumed was Frank was passed out in the center of the living room. I rolled my eyes, shutting the front door behind me just loud enough for him to swear, effectively waking up and clutching his head.

"Goddammit Frank," I said, walking into the living room. I reached down and proceeded to haul him up onto the couch. "You really need to think about how your lifestyle choices are affecting this family."

Frank rubbed his eyes, opening them up to look at me. "Shit," he said, straightening up then as he got a good look at my face. "Monica always said there were two of you, but I always thought that was the PCP talking..."

I blinked, staring at Frank. "What are you talking about?"

"You're Murphy," he said, pointing at me, and I felt my jaw dropping at he said those words. "I mean, when your wife is crying about someone in their sleep for half a dozen years, you begin to remember things..."

I found I was barely able to move. "So, you're saying you knew about me?" I demanded, and suddenly found myself picking up Frank by his collar. "You both fucking knew about me and never tried to fucking find me?!"

"Murph!" Lip called from the door, leaving it open and coming into the living room then, prying my fingers off of Frank's shirt. "What the fuck did you say to her, Frank?!" Lip demanded, and Frank laughed, cheap whiskey and beer filling our nostrils.

"Oh, so Scarlett was the adopted name!" he said, laughing. "This is the girl you're in love with, isn't it, son?"

"Shut up, Frank," Lip said.

"Pretty big fuck up, considering she's your sister!"

Lip immediately smacked Frank across the face. "I told you to shut up!"

"Lip!" I screamed.

Frank just kept on laughing, turning to look at me. "I've seen that look before—that look of fear and confusion," he went on, and I felt Lip's eyes on me then. "Your mother always had that look whenever she was going to tell me she was pregnant."

I felt myself going white then as I felt myself shaking. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Frank," I replied.

"Don't I?" Frank asked, trying to sit up. "You're pregnant, Murphy. You're pregnant, and that's why you're here, right? To tell Lip that he's going to be a father?!"

Another smell combination of the whiskey and beer filled my nose, causing me to wobble on my feet and bile to rise in my throat. "Stop it," I said, feeling my resolve weakening.

"Oh, come on," Frank said, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Another Gallagher wouldn't be so bad to have..."

"Don't touch her!" Lip said, shoving Frank away from me.

"Hey," Frank said, throwing up his hands. "Can't help it if you fell for your brother and fucked him, and now that there's a child on the way..."

"Stop it!" I cried, the aroma becoming too much for me as I ran from the room and into the bathroom, locking myself in. I ran to the toilet in the small space, falling to my knees and retching into it, my yogurt and granola from breakfast that morning coming up completely as I could still smell the alcohol on Frank's breath.

"Murph!" Lip cried out, banging on the bathroom door behind me. "Murph! Are you okay in there? Answer me, please!"

Shakily, once the worst of it was over, I got to my feet and flushed the toilet. I gripped onto the bathroom counter, staring at myself in the mirror. My face was slightly thinner, due to my lack of eating because of the stress over the last few weeks. My eyes were hollow from my body's refusal to let me sleep, and I shook my head, leaning down to rinse out my mouth, thankful that vomit wasn't caked to any of my clothes.

I unlocked the door then, seeing Lip standing there as I managed to fish a piece of gum from my pocket and began to chew it. "I'm fine," I replied, stepping out of the bathroom, seeing that Frank was sleeping on the couch.

"How'd you like our dear old dad?" Lip asked sarcastically.

I sighed. "Too soon, Lip."

"Got it," he replied as I went into the kitchen to wash my hands. "Is that why you wanted to meet, Murph?" he asked, and I felt myself tense as we'd migrated back to the main subject. "Did you want to tell me that you're pregnant?"

I sighed, turning around, gripping a towel in my hand. "Yeah, I figured you had a right to know, considering you're a candidate for the father."

Lip nodded, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall. "But Mickey's the other candidate for the father, right?"

I nodded. "Right. Which is why I met Ian first..."

"To have it out with him?"

I sighed, replacing the towel. "You could say that... I have a plan," I said, and placed a hand onto my belly.

"What kind of plan?"

I bit my lip, looking up at my brother. "Lip, you know as well as I do that, if it is your baby, it could be seriously disabled, due to the similar genes. So, if it does turn out to be your child, I'm going to...terminate pregnancy."

Lip nodded. "I understand. And if it's Mickey?"

"If it's Mickey's baby, I'm keeping it," I replied. "I've spoken to Ian about it, and he's supportive of that."

"Are you going to tell Mickey?"

I sighed. "I'm going to clear my schedule this weekend to drive down to the border and into Mexico to see him," I said quietly. "Or, rather, to see if I can find him. If he's going to be a father again because of our stupidity, then I need to let him know, if I can find him. If I can find him..." I said again, realizing how hopeless I sounded.

"I don't know what you want me to say right now," Lip replied.

I sighed again, leaning against the counter. "Just hope that you're not going to be a father, Lip, because I've always wanted to be a mother. And just hope that Mickey's the one whose number is up, because, despite my age, I want to be a mother..."

"So, you told Ian, and me, and Frank just knew?"

I sighed. "Aren't parents supposed to know these things?"

Lip smirked. "Maybe. But not bad ones."

I found the courage to laugh at that. Then, as I stared at Lip from across the kitchen, I said, in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry."

Lip gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Me too."

I rolled my shoulders, finding that I put a protective hand upon my stomach. "As soon as I know for sure..."

Lip gave another nod. "Sure, sure."

I gave him a tight smile; we weren't quite to the brother-sister relationship yet, I knew that, and Lip knew that. However, I thought, one day, we could be. Meeting Frank had shifted something within us that day, and now that I knew Frank and Monica knew about me, I wanted to get to the bottom of it. However, due to his heavy snoring, I knew I'd have to wait just a little bit longer to solve the mystery.

. . .

Judge Whitmore's agreement to delay the verdict for another week and a half came with strings attached, and those strings included us managing to buckle down Jasmine Jones for a meeting. I was pleased when Nicholas said that he would handle the arrangements, and I knew that he was waiting for me to come to Tim's office to ward off stress, but I couldn't do that, not anymore, now that recent developments prevented me from reckless decision-making. I wrote an email to Allie, requesting a one-on-one meeting for Friday and, thankfully, she'd cleared a few minutes before end-of-day to see me.

"Is everything all right, Murphy?" she asked, and I was pleased that she had really committed to calling me by my birth name.

I sighed. "Things will be all right, Allie, in time."

Allie leaned forward then. "Murphy, what aren't you telling me?" she asked.

I sighed, knowing that I absolutely had to come clean about this to Allie; she had done so much for me in so little time, and she deserved the truth. "I'm pregnant," I replied.

"Oh, goodness," Allie said. "Is it Nicholas's?"

Immediately, I felt myself flush. "Wh...what?" I asked.

Allie smiled. "Darling, I'm not blind."

I lowered my eyes. "No, it couldn't be Nicholas's. We used protection."

Allie nodded. "So, you and Nicholas, you weren't...?"

"We're not together," I replied, looking back up at her. "And this was before him. This was also before I knew who I was—and so mistakes were made..."

"Mistakes?"

I bit my lip. "I need you not to judge me, okay, Allie? I mean, when we don't know a lot of information about a case, we're inclined to think a certain way, right?"

Allie nodded again. "Of course."

"Well, it turns out that the guy I was seeing...was my brother," I replied, and Allie looked shocked at my declaration. "I didn't know, of course, and he didn't know. And since he was my first...well, guy, and now, it looks like he might be the father..."

"Might be?"

I nodded. "Yeah. When I first found out who my family was, I kind of went off the rails like my twin brother did one time and went down to Mexico, where I had way too much tequila to drink and had a one-night-stand."

Allie reached across the desk. "Oh, Murphy, I'm so sorry."

I nodded, dashing the tears from my eyes with my free hand. "It'll be fine, even though the guy I was with in Mexico was the ex-boyfriend of my twin brother."

"Oh, my," Allie whispered.

"So, now I have to tell the father," I replied, "or the candidate for the father. I'm driving down there this weekend to see if I can find him."

Allie clasped my hand then. "Anything you need..."

I sighed. "If... If it turns out that my brother is the biological father, I might need a couple of days to just take care of things and to grieve..."

Allie nodded. "Of course. Completely understandable."

I smiled. "Thanks. My doctor told me that she should know in a few weeks."

Allie smiled back. "That's good."

I sighed. "Very good. I want the results to be read and read quickly so that I can plan accordingly and, hopefully, go from here a better person."

"You're already a better person, Murphy, for just getting out in front of this and making the preliminary arrangements," Allie replies. "I know things will work out the way that they're supposed to, in the end."

I smiled. "I hope so, Allie. I really hope so."

. . .

My plan was a simple one, but actually executing it may be more difficult than I originally anticipated. With my duffel in the back of my car, I drove the day-plus drive down south to the border, with all my necessary documentation. It was actually finding Mickey that would prove to be the issue, I reasoned with myself as I drove. Truth be told, I'd stumbled on him by accident in that roadside tequila bar, and the night, which had finally managed to come back to me over the last couple of days, was no short of devastating...

" _You do love him," I say, nodding to myself._

" _No shit," Mickey replies, in that same bitter tone, unbuttoning his shirt and revealing a crude etching of Ian's name, minus one 'L'._

" _You know, of course, that Gallagher—"_

" _Ian told me when I showed him."_

 _I reached out then, tracing the crude lettering. "It's over your heart," I say, moved by the notion of the meaning it held._

" _Yeah," Mickey replied, not slapping my hand away._

" _I'm sorry," I say, my speech halting, due to my drunkenness, as I raised my eyes to Mickey's, and moved to tear my hand away from Ian's name._

 _Mickey caught me by the wrist then, keeping my hand over his heart. "It's okay."_

" _Mickey..."_

" _What?"_

 _I shake my head at him, not caring that we are around a million people, who, thankfully, are each wrapped up in their own lives. "Don't do this."_

" _It's the next best thing—"_

" _Do you hear yourself right now?" I whispered, looking at him desperately. "We're each broken inside because we can't be with the ones we love. We can't just fix it—not like this, anyway. If you knew... If you knew the real story..."_

" _You don't have to tell me," he said. "You don't have to tell me, Scarlett. I've figured it out, so you don't need to say it."_

 _I feel my resolve weakening as I stare at him then, wanting so badly to tear my hand away, but also wanting to fix my pain, no matter now temporary it was. "We can't."_

" _Why not?"_

" _Because you love Ian..."_

" _You love somebody too, Scarlett. Who do you love?"_

" _Lip," I whispered, shutting my eyes and feeling the tears fall. "I love Lip."_

" _Sounds like your shit you want to forget is even more complicated than mine," Mickey puts in, and my eyes snap open then. "Isn't it?"_

" _Fucking complicated," I whisper to him, and, even though I know I should, I don't stop it when Mickey Milkovich inches closer to me. "But this is not the way, Mickey—you know that, and I know that. It won't stop the pain; in fact, it could hurt a shit ton of other people..."_

" _I know that, and you know that," Mickey replied. "But, like I said, it could turn out to be the next best thing. Besides, Ian said running wasn't his thing anymore... Is it your thing now, Scarlett? Running?"_

 _I lowered my eyes. "Mickey..."_

" _Scarlett, you're an adult," he said, and I raised my eyes to his then. "A fucking adult, with wants and needs—god knows I am."_

" _But Mickey, what if we—?"_

" _Stop overanalyzing this," Mickey said, growing impatient then as he dragged me towards him and kissed me._

 _I thought of all the pain and suffering I'd gone through in my life, and suddenly, my mind drifted away from Lip and to Jessica. I'd never said a proper goodbye to her—a solo goodbye—and had kept my distance ever since Dr. Normal had caught us together. Yes, I loved Jessica, and due to circumstances, we'd fallen into each other's laps, but in love? I didn't know, and as Mickey kissed me then, I knew he was thinking of his lost love as well. And as I allowed him to take me from the bar and into the back of the establishment—no prying eyes following us and no shouts telling us to return to our seats—Mickey and I attempted to recreate something that had been taken from us. And although we knew it was wrong, and although we were drunk off our asses, it had happened, and nothing could ever take it back..._

I was permitted across the border and drove through easily, finding my way along the road for a time until I found the tequila bar. I knew that it was the best bet—perhaps, like Kevin, the bartender would be familiar enough with his clientele to let me know where he thought Mickey was hiding. I parked in the lot and got out of my car, and began talking towards the entrance of the place when a lone plume of smoke from the other side of the building distracted me. I walked towards it, the familiar aroma of the cigarettes Ian smoked filling my lungs as I stepped closer, and saw Mickey standing there, staring out at the wide, open space of land in front of us.

"Hey, there, Mick," I said.

Mickey froze for a moment, turning around to face me then. "Scarlett."

I shook my head. "Murphy," I replied.

"What?" he asked.

"Going by my birth name now. Murphy Margaret Gallagher," I replied, and Mickey immediately put out his cigarette. "You were right, about me being similar to Ian. Turns out that he and I are fucking twins. Small world, right?"

Mickey stepped on his cigarette, shaking his head. "Shit," he said. "God, does he know what you and I—"

I nodded. "Yes. I told him."

"Shit..."

"He knows we were drunk," I said. "And after a period of anger, he's grown to accept it. And he has to accept it, because I'm pregnant."

Mickey looked up at me. "Is it mine?"

I sighed. "Could be. I hope it is."

He made a face. "Why would you want a baby with me?"

"Because the alternative is that it's Lip's baby," I replied. "I cannot have my fucking brother's child, Mickey, I can't. There are rules, you know..."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Fuck. And I thought I had problems..."

"We _all_ have fucking problems, Mickey," I said, crossing my arms.

Mickey sighed. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "You came all the way to fucking Mexico to tell me that you could be pregnant with my kid?"

I shrugged. "Only way I could think of. Pregnancy brain, maybe, I don't know..."

"I don't know what you expect from me here, Murphy."

I rolled my eyes. "You don't have to do anything. Hell, I'll even write unknown on the birth certificate if I have to, just to keep you out of it."

Mickey shrugged. "Your choice."

I sighed, maneuvering my hair so that it wasn't making contact with the back of my neck anymore. "Look, I didn't come down here to fight with you, okay, Mickey? I came down here to tell you that there's a chance that you could be a father. I know the timing is shit, and America isn't exactly your biggest fan right now, but I thought you had the right to know."

Mickey sighed. "Thanks. For telling me, I guess."

I nodded. "No problem," I said, and began walking away.

"Hey, Murph?"

I sighed, turning around. "Yeah?"

"Where you going?"

"Back to the border. I need to get back home because I have a life."

Mickey sighed. "Can you do me one thing?"

I gave a slight nod. "Depends on what you're asking. Do you need another pack of smokes or something, because I think I can do that..."

"No, it's not that," Mickey replied. "Can you tell Ian..." He looked away for a moment, and I knew he didn't want me to see him being vulnerable again. "Can you tell Ian that... I don't know, that I'm still waiting?"

I sighed. "I'll try."

"Guess that's all I can ask for, right?"

I smiled. "I guess that's true."

Mickey smiled back at me. "Well, I guess I'll hear through the grapevine if the baby turns out to be mine, right?"

"I'll find a way to let you know," I replied, not knowing how I would keep that promise, but also knowing that, despite everything, Mickey deserved to know.

Mickey nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem," I replied.

I turned around then, for the last time, and got back into my car. I saw Mickey in my rearview mirror, and he raised his hand to me in farewell. I smiled then, shaking my head, thinking about the journey ahead and how Mickey could possibly be physically linked now to the Gallagher family forever. I raised my hand back to him, and I think he saw it, because he smiled. I shook my head, pulling out of the parking space and out of the parking lot, and onto the main highway then, where I plugged in my music, Dolly Parton's voice belting out the chorus of _9 to 5_ yet again to accompany my driving.

I texted Ian, letting him know that I was on my way towards the border, and would likely be home the following night if I made good time. I got a text back from him a few moments later, and I felt myself reeling ever so slightly.

 _Heard from Lip that you accidentally met Frank—sorry that me or Fiona couldn't have been there to prevent it, or at least help the situation. He was lucid for a while today, and told me about a safety deposit box that was in Monica's name. I went to it, and found a letter addressed to you. You can open it when you get home._

As I found myself back on the road towards the boarder, I didn't know what I was going to do, and it wasn't a bad feeling, but a bittersweet one. Sure, I may have been pregnant, and I had no idea who the father was, but this was a blessing in disguise. Even if Lip was the father, this meant that my childhood doctor had been wrong—I _could_ have children. Smiling to myself as Dolly continued singing about working and making a living, I looked over and saw the beautiful sunset outside my passenger window. Even though this day was approaching its end, I knew it had been a beautiful one, as would tomorrow, and the next day, because even though I'd now figured out who I was, my journey was not yet over.

END OF SEASON ONE


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